By the Light of the Fire
by Twilight in my Eyes
Summary: NewSumm.FE8 They thought the war was over. It wasn't. The fiends return and, in their wake, a strange girl. Doubt, hatred, and danger follow her. The lives of our heroes will never be the same again. Will love be enough to save Artur and Lute? COMPLETE.
1. The Road Back

**A/N:** Okay, this is my first fanfic, so I hope it's acceptable. I'm extremely new to so please be patient with me as I figure out my way around. One thing you should know about me: I will never leave you hanging for weeks and/or months for an update. I'm sure that's a relief to all of you reading this. Okay, another thing you should know: this fanfic takes place immediately after the war. If it's not too clear, in the story, I'll make it clear now and probably mention it again at the end, just in case. L'Arachel, Dozla, Rennac, and Myrrh have already been escorted home. So, the group should be somewhere between Jehanna, Renais, and Grado, which would be smack in the middle of Magvel.

**Disclaimer:** Ugh, the dreaded disclaimer. I own nothing of this, not the characters, not the places, not the awesome, unique names, well, you get the point. I only own the plot, and a few random names. But that's all.

Now, on with the story! And please review!

**xXx **flashback/passage of time

1) The Road Back

"Artur, wake up."

"Fimermits." He mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

"Wake up!"

A hand shook his shoulder. He cracked open one eye. He saw a large, hairy, multiple eyed, fanged face staring at him. Artur let out a strangled yell, flailed in the saddle, and fell to the ground.

"Ow," He muttered, sitting up. He heard a stifled giggle from above him and looked up.

Lute.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." She teased.

Artur stood and rubbed his lower back. He grimaced when he saw the spider sitting on her palm. Lute giggled again and he scowled.

"Still afraid of spiders, I see." She observed with a grin.

"I wasn't afraid. I was merely… startled." Artur protested, climbing back into the saddle.

"Hey! What is the holdup?" a voice, Artur knew is to be Kyle, called from behind.

Artur sighed exasperatedly. "Nothing," he called back. The line of knights, returning from the war, began again. Artur shot Lute a look. She grinned in turn.

"Why couldn't you let me sleep?" he asked.

Lute shrugged. "You were going to fall anyway, the way you were slouching. Besides, I found your reaction to a simple, _non-_lethal spider very interesting."

"Gods help me." Artur muttered under his breath, thinking back to a moment in time where he found himself besieged by the arachnids. He shuddered. He glanced at Lute and saw that the spider had disappeared. He hoped it wouldn't be back.

Lute was beaming, her expression nearly as bright as the Fire she commanded. "I can't believe we're going home!"

Artur too, felt his spirits lift, forgetting about the spider for the time being. Home. The word sounded so good. The war was finally over and they all could go home. He sobered for a moment as he remembered the village in Za'ha Woods. It was there that he first met Princess Eirika and her tiny army.

**xXx**

He stared in revulsion as revenants lurched out behind the trees. The stench of rotting flesh met his nose. The rattling of bones met his ears. Artur turned and saw the hideous bonewalkers with empty eye sockets and sinister grins, drawing their swords. The fierce growling and burning eyes of the mauthe doogs drew his attention.

He saw the travelers ahead and hurried toward them.

"Travelers, you must listen to me! The ancient forest of Za'ha is dangerous. Head south and pass through this place before the fiends surround you!"

A woman with a gentle face and turquoise hair turned to him. "Who are you?"

"My name is Artur. The temple has assigned me the task of cleansing the forest of these… things. There are so many of the fiends, though. I wonder if I stand much chance alone. So if you would, please flee now while you have the chance."

"Fiends? You're not talking about the same fiends that served the ancient Demon King? That can't be right… They're nothing but legends and fairy tales…"

"Yes, I felt the same when I heard. And yet here they are. This place is filled with them. I wonder how far they've spread… Surely they're not in Renais alone."

"But…why are they here? How?"

A knight with auburn hair and gleaming silver armor stepped in front of her protectively. "Beware, Your Highness! Something approaches!"

Artur turned and saw the revenant limp up to them. "Please allow me to deal with this. Evil shade! May the blessed light drive you from this land!" he flung out a hand and a powerful bolt of Lightning struck the fiend. The reanimated corpse fell to the ground, now but a pile of ash.

The knight spoke. "We ought to help. He can't fight them all alone. Do you have orders?"

But the battle began without even a spoken signal. The monsters of legend charged forward, death in their eyes and, for those that lacked eyes, death was in their movements. The tiny army surged forward to meet the creatures. Artur took his place among the trees and forgot his fear. Lightning coursed through his body and filled him with courage.

_Lute is still in the village,_ he thought. He repeated it to himself as he blasted away the monsters, leaving scorched, smoking remains. There was a flurry of wings and Artur half feared the enemy now had flying allies, such as the gargoyles. But, instead, a white pegasus landed next to him, folding its wings.

"Come with me!" a green haired woman with a calm face called, reaching out a hand.

Artur hesitated. In that moment a bonewalker lunged at him. The woman thrust out her lance. The bonewalker crumpled to the ground in a pile of splintered bones.

"Ah, thank you." Artur said to her.

"You are welcome, now, come with me." she said, grabbing his wrist and helping him up into the saddle behind her. "Hiya, Titania!" the woman urged her mount to the sky. The pegasus shot into the air with a well balanced leap. Artur yelped at the stomach dropping rush. The green haired woman talked to him over her shoulder.

"Princess Eirika has ordered that I take you to the village. There is a girl there?"

"Yes," Artur replied, raising his voice above the wind. "One of my companions is in that village to the south. If you can get there swiftly, I implore you to watch over her safety."

"Well, why don't I just take you to her? It would be easier this way, she knows you. " she said. "I am Vanessa of the Frelia Pegasus Knights. Who are you?"

"I am Artur, a monk of Renais." He answered. "Are we in any danger from those…things below?"

"Just keep an eye out for spears and javelins, anything that can be thrown or shot this high." She warned. "Also, lean into the turns and dips as I do. We will be able to avoid them easier."

Artur found that watching the ground below was a bit too much for him as it past beneath him in a blur. In any case, the pegasus's pure white feathered wings where in the way to see much of anything. Then, with a warning from Vanessa, Artur leaned left as the knight did. He saw a spear fly by before disappearing from sight. Artur followed Vanessa as she sat upright again. Artur's robes fluttered in the wind and the pegasus knight's green braid waved in front of him. He noticed she held no rein in her hands and he briefly wondered if the knight was as mad as the villagers rumored them to be. As he further studied the mechanics of riding a flying horse, he learned Vanessa directed her mount through touch. Flying was quite nice and fast, but Artur preferred to stay on the ground.

"That is the village, right?" Vanessa pointed with her lance toward the small cluster of houses off to their right.

"It is."

"Hang on, we're going to land." She warned as the pegasus descended. Artur clamped his legs tightly, fearing the wind caused by the descent would rip him from the horse's back. But it did not, much to Artur's relief. Once the pegasus landed, Artur slid to the ground, legs just a little bit wobbly. Vanessa turned to him from the back of her mount.

"You were pretty good for a first time flyer." Vanessa said.

"Really? You could have fooled me." Artur remarked.

"Go find your friend. I'll watch your back." Vanessa urged.

Artur nodded and hurried into the village. He found Lute not long after. He rushed to her.

"Lute, help has arrived."

She said nothing.

"Lute?"

"Your flesh shows no sign of putrefaction. It seems you're not a revenant." She replied at last.

"Well, I should hope not! I wanted you to know help has arrived. Please be patient a bit longer…"

"No, no. I insist on joining you in combat. I've been reading up on these revenants. They are, quite simply, no match for me. I am superior after all."

**xXx**

"Hey, Artur, you are not asleep again, are you?" Lute asked from beside him.

"No," he answered, casting a cautious glance for the spider…just in case. "I was thinking, not sleeping."

"Oh," Lute paused only half a second. "What were you thinking about?"

"The village in Za'ha Woods." He answered. "The last time we were there, it was overrun by monsters and destroyed. Do you think they have started reconstruction yet?"

"Hmm…" Lute pondered the question for a moment. "Maybe they have. It's been, what?, a little more than two weeks since we left Darkling Woods. I hated making all those stops to the kingdoms, even if we were escorting royalty. I wanted to go home. Did you know there is a special type of lizard that always knows where they are going and where their burrow is?"

Artur sighed. "Please, Lute, not another of your speeches."

Lute frowned. "What? I had just thought you would like to know. I read it once in a book called—" She frowned further. "Now, what was it called? Gods, it has been so long since I have read a book like that." She looked over at Artur. "Ever since I was engaged in the war, I have studied all the magic books I could. I have practiced endlessly and I haven't read like I used to."

"I realize that. I was there when you practiced, remember?"

Lute grinned sheepishly. "Yes, I do…along with a few other moments I would rather forget."

Artur grinned. This was his chance to get back at her for the spider scare. "I believe I clearly remember the time you set Fire to Prince Innes's tent."

Lute grimaced. "Don't remind me. I never thought anyone could be so angry… Well, it's no surprise that he did get angry. He's _always_ angry. But then, of course, I _did_ set Fire to his tent… I'm just glad Princess Eirika was able to calm him down and that no one was harmed."

"Indeed, how fortunate for you that Princess Eirika was nearby. I'm sure Prince Innes would have made you polish tack for a week or more!" Artur chuckled at the thought.

**xXx**

Soon night fell over them after a dazzling display of the setting sun and the oncoming twilight. Lute was so taken by the colorful masterpiece that she was oblivious to Artur's remarks as she rambled on about the colors. Since the haggard heroes were no where near a city, not even a village, they were forced to make camp along the road among the hills.

Lute had set up her tent without any help. She remembered that she had always needed help with the daunting task early in the war. But now she could manage the simple tent. She had set her saddlebags within and had lit a few candles. Her bedroll was spread out on the ground and Lute had taken off her boots. Her many books of magic lay in stacks and bulged out of her saddlebags. Well, not all of them were _hers_, but she seemed to accumulate every book the troop owned. Thus, her tent was quite crowded. She sat on her bedroll, staring at all the books. Books of basic and advanced Fire and Elfire. There were safety guides for Lightning, Bolting, and Thunder. She had books on the legends of Excalibur, Fimbulvetre, Ivaldi, and many more.

Lute felt unbearably cramped in her tent. She picked up her bedroll, blew out the candles and walked outside. She noticed a few other people lying beneath the stars. She also noticed the people were Princess Tana, Vanessa, Syrene, and Cormag—the flying mounted knights. She spread out her bedroll on the top of a grassy hill. Lute sighed. The stars were so beautiful tonight. She smiled and studied the constellations she knew, which was near all of them.

Lute heard someone approaching and turned her head. Artur lied his bedroll next to hers and looked up at the portion of the night sky she had been staring at

"There is Suzukin, the wyvern of legend." He said. Artur tilted his head to one side. "And right beside her is Chan Lyar, the leader of the Gwyllgi. Do you remember facing those three-headed demon canines? I do." He sat on his bedroll, crossing his legs. "The books say they battled for the freedom of Grado's east coast. Suzukin won the battle and that is why the Grado Empire has wyvern knights instead of pegasus knights, or so they say."

Lute sat up and pointed to a cluster of stars. "And that's the Sacred Stones." The stars made four points of a diamond with the fifth star in the middle. "One star for every Sacred Stone that used to protect Magvel." Outside the diamond there seemed to be a sprinkling of crushed stars, like dust. Artur lied down on his back with a sigh. He closed his eyes.

"Home. In just a few days we'll be home." He murmured. Lute smiled, wriggling under the covers of her bedroll. Then she frowned.

"Where would home be, Artur? The temple?"

He crawled within his bedroll as she spoke. "Well, the temple sent us to cleanse the land of the fiends, which we have done. Yes, I believe home would be back in the temple." Lute stared at the night sky with a slight frown. She sighed, turning onto her side.

"What is it, Lute? I know something is on your mind." She turned to face him and saw he was propped up on his elbow. "Well...I like living out here, in the country. Besides, the temple is so boring."

Artur raised an eyebrow. "Do you realize what you are saying? You would give up all the books in the temple to live in the country?" His tone was surprised. It was probably the last thing he had ever expected to hear from her.

"I'm not saying that!" She responded quickly. "I simply mean, the country is more peaceful than the temple. Plus, there are so many fascinating things out here!" she gestured to the sky. "The stars for example."

Artur nodded. "True, there is that. But, Lute, think of how your power has progressed in the past months. If you return to the temple, you'll be highly regarded and respected."

Lute shrugged. "I'm a prodigy. What did you expect?"

**xXx**

**A/N:** First off, I should probably refresh your memory and tell you where everyone is at. There's a lot of characters and they can be hard to keep track of. L'Arachel, Dozla, Rennac, and Myrrh are back home. Remember that. It's important. Everyone else is still with Ephraim and Eirika.

Okay, what do you think? You know, you could review and tell me. Come on, you know you want to. Just press that cute button down there and type a review. Okay? Thank you!


	2. Changes of War

**A/N: **Hello everyone! I thought I would wait a few days for reviews, that my will would be strong enough. But, it wasn't. I caved. I **had** to update. All I can say is thank you, thank you to the people who reviewed!! There weren't many reviews (two, in fact), but I still loved reading them. Please, please, keep reviewing! It helps me greatly to read what people think of my story. For those that think the story is going a bit slow, don't worry, it'll pick up very soon. Maybe not in this chapter, but it will, I promise. This chapter also includes most of the third support conversation between them. I just hope I gave it enough life.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters. If I did, I would be a very happy person. But I don't, so I must settle for a fanfic.

Enjoy!

**2) Changes of War**

When Lute woke, she scrambled to get her things together. As soon as she had opened her eyes, she knew she had slept in. _Why hadn't Artur woke me? _she thought to herself. She cursed herself silently as she ran to her tent. She froze.

"Good morning, Lute." Artur said cheerily, stuffing the last book into the saddlebags.

"Oh, good morning Artur." She responded, hiding the surprise from her voice. _Artur must have woken up early in order to pack _all_ my books._ "Um, thank you."

Artur smiled. "That's okay. I rather enjoyed going through all these books. A rather impressive collection you have, for being in a war." The tent was near empty now that the bulging saddlebags were placed near the entrance flap. Lute rolled up her bedroll and lashed it together with leather ties.

"Come on, Lute. I think the cook saved us some breakfast." Artur said, walking out of the tent. She followed her companion to where the cook was stationed. Artur's thick, curly copper hair shone various shades of gold and red in the sunlight. His skin had tanned a little since the start of the war. Though his robes were still that of the colors of a Monk, Artur held the station and the power of a Sage, an advanced magic user.

Lute saw a few people still lingering near the cook's station. She could see Ross, Neimi, and Colm gathered in a circle, plates and utensils still in their hands. Lute studied each of her fellow companions. Ross's scruffy youthful look had been lost during the war. He was just as stubborn and spirited as before, but his boyish looks were fading. Neimi, with her pink bob, stood out slight. Lute remembered how much Neimi use to cry; she had been very sensitive in the past. But war had hardened her just enough to stop her constant bawling. Colm, with his double pierced ear, navy hair that extended into a small horsetail, had grown more patient with Neimi. It was plain to see the pink haired archer and the rugged thief got along well with one another. In fact, they were a couple.

"Hi Lute! Good morning Artur!" Ross greeted with much enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Ross." Lute replied as she collected the tray handed to her by the cook. She sat down on a fallen log that served as a bench for them. She looked down, with much disappointment, at the food on her plate. It was the same stale-tasting food they had been given during the war. Artur chuckled at her expression.

"We're heroes! Heroes! And _this_ is what they give us?! I thought we deserved at least better tasting food!" Lute exclaimed.

"I'm sure they are merely cleaning out whatever supplies they had left over." Artur replied.

"It looks like it too!" Lute exclaimed, poking the egg-like looking substance with her fork.

"I suggest you hold your breath when you eat." Neimi said from beside Colm. Lute looked incredulously at her.

"It's true," Colm said. "It smells worse than it tastes."

Lute stared at her tray of vile food. "Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore…" She set the tray aside and grimaced as she watched Artur take a bite of his food. He swallowed thickly.

"Bleh, tastes like sand." He muttered, quickly placing his tray next to Lute's. They both looked at the others' tray to see that hadn't even been touched. "They're smarter than us." He muttered to Lute. "And I thought _you_ were the prodigy." Lute could find nothing to say, causing Artur to laugh.

**xXx**

"I am completely and utterly bored out of my mind." Lute said in frustration later that day. "The road is the same, the plains and hills and forests all look alike, there is nothing alive besides us in view, and I haven't seen any sign of civilization for miles!"

"Hmm... Oh, did you say something, Lute?" Artur asked as if sleepily.

"And you're not even paying any attention to any of my plights!" she exclaimed.

"I was meditating." He replied logically.

Lute rolled her eyes. "I should have known."

"What? You're always hidden in the pages of a book. Anyone would be lucky if to get a word out of you." He retorted.

"Well, I believe knowledge is far more useful than a thriving social life." Lute shot back.

Artur's expression suddenly became somber. "Do you really think that?"

Lute realized rather quickly that he was referring to a conversation they had nearly months ago. "I—I, er… I don't know…"

Artur smiled, though it looked strained. "That's okay, I understand. Ah, I think Saleh and Ewan would like a word like me. You know, being magic users and all… Well, wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

Lute blinked in surprise at the sudden mood change and watched him ride up to the Master of Caer Pelyn and his former pupil. She felt an odd sense of guilt. The three magic users engaged in a conversation she couldn't hear. Lute thought back to memories of the past.

**xXx**

Artur walked up beside her. "Hello, Lute."

She was lost in thought and didn't respond.

"What is it? You look like you have something on your mind."

She shook her head. "Oh. No. I was just thinking about monsters."

"Monsters?" He was quite obviously lost.

"Yes. All these monsters are our enemies, I know, but…they're not all bad, are they?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, still not following where she was going with this.

"They're kind of cute, don't you think? I mean, like those revenants, for example."

Artur grimaced slightly. "It's fair to say I will never understand your tastes. Besides, I thought you enjoyed using them as, well, magic practice."

"Oh, I do. I do indeed. I use my magic to rip them to shreds…with love, of course."

Artur looked slightly uneasy. "Your way of expressing love is somewhat frightening…"

Lute smiled."Do you think so? Thank you."

"No… That wasn't a compliment. … Should I ah, expect you to attack me with magic, too?"

Her brow furrowed with confusion. "Hm? Why would I attack you with my magic?"

Artur seemed surprised. "You don't get it?"

Lute frowned. "No. You're strange logic baffles even my brilliant, brilliant mind. That's why I'm curious."

Now Artur really did seem surprised. "Really? You don't get it?"

Lute was beginning to grow impatient. "No, I don't!"

Artur was now amused. "You really don't?"

Now Lute was both impatient and irritated. "Stop that!"

His expression became serious. "I'm just giving you a hard time, Lute. All right. I'll just come straight out and say it."

She was much relieved. "Finally!

"It's because I like you." He said fairly quickly.

Lute was shocked. "What!?" She wasn't sure she had heard him right.

He continued determinedly, as if he wouldn't be able to finish if he stopped now. "In fact, I love you, and I'm hoping perhaps that you love me."

The realization and his words were shocking. "Oh!Oh!!"

"Now, do you understand?" He looked hopeful.

She didn't know what to say. "Er… Um…"

**xXx**

Now, watching the back of his head remorsefully, she remembered she had thought up of a rather ineffective cover-up. He had seen right through it and stopped her nervous rambling. She had confessed she knew nothing of love because her books could tell her nothing about the topic. He had thought the reasoning behind her stuttering was amusing enough to laugh at. Lute cut off the chain of memories. She didn't want to remember how she had responded to his questioning. But she realized how much she had upset him with her words. But her pride wouldn't allow her to apologize. At least…not yet.

**xXxXx**

**A/N: **Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More will be on the way shortly, a few days at most. Please review!!! All you have to do is hit that button below, hit a few keys and send it! I will be a happy person if you do!! And you will too because I'll post sooner!! Thank you bunches!


	3. Fatal Shot

**A/N:** Hello everybody! I think it's been a few days since I've updated, so I thought I might as well update tonight. I promise this one is has more action in it. In fact...warning! Cliffie ahead! But I'm not saying another word, so you'll just have to read on. And remember: reviews are good, I love reviews!!

**Disclaimer: **Okay, this is starting to get annoying. Everyone knows I don't own Fire Emblem, so why must I mention it? Fine. I don't own Fire Emblem, or anything else (except the plot) for that matter.

Enjoy and review!!!

**3) Fatal Shot**

It was another day on the road home. Artur sighed. The plain countryside could become boring very fast. He had tried reading in the saddle as he had seen Lute do once, but it only gave him a headache. She had ignored him the rest of yesterday and he had not talked to her all of today. He knew her pride was the only thing stopping her from talking to him. Sometimes her pride was unbearably annoying. But he hid his irritation or at least tired to. He was riding with Saleh and Ewan again. The group was approaching the Grado border where Knoll, Natasha, Duessel, and Cormag would return to their home country.

"Saleh, Ewan, why did you choose to come with us? You could have stayed home in Caer Pelyn." Artur asked, curious.

"I thought it would be good for Ewan to travel and learn magic from other countries." The magic Master of Caer Pelyn replied.

Artur brightened. "I have an idea. When we reach Renais, I'll take you to the temple which I pay service to. It has a massive library and there are classes for different magics."

Ewan's eyes shone with excitement. "That sounds like fun." He turned to Saleh. "Can we go, Teacher?"

The Master smiled. "I don't see why not. Of course, we'll go. Thank you, Artur, for allowing us this opportunity."

"You're most welcome. The temple isn't too big, not as big as the one in Rausten, but we're proud of it." Artur replied with a smile.

"Lute belongs to your temple as well, doesn't she?" Saleh asked.

"Yes, she does." Artur half smiled. "I remember when I first met Lute. I was quite taken aback by her knowledge and skill. She was, as she told me continuously, a prodigy. But I was more surprised a few months back when she made her choice to become a Mage Knight. It seemed to me that she would choose to accept the Sage rank, with all of its magic benefits. Instead she donned the garb of a knight and was presented with a mount suitable for her."

"Imagine," Ewan said with awe. "To be a war mage."

Artur frowned at the disrespectful name, but Saleh quickly reprimanded him. "Ewan, you know it is not polite nor is it right to call a Mage Knight that."

"But the village people—"

"True the civilians _do_ call soldiers rather vulgar and disrespectful names, war mage being among them, _but_ that does not mean you can as well. A Mage Knight is simply a magic user who joined the Knights and travels with them, perhaps on border patrols or something else like it. A Mage Knight can be rather useful to those who don't have the skills to wield the elements. But a Mage Knight is not a magic user designed to start wars or gain the upper hand in such a war. I hope I never hear that from you again."

Ewan had been staring down at the reins in his hands. He looked over at Saleh, anger in his coppery eyes. "I'm not sure if you have noticed, Teacher, but I am no longer a _child_."

Saleh's expression hardened only slightly. "I have noticed, Ewan. Your skill and power have improved immensely. But it sill gives you no right to call a fellow soldier a weapon of war."

"I didn't mean it like that!" he exclaimed. "If I'm so powerful, why can't I have some freedom? I'd like to go out and learn on my own. Lute has a lot of freedom now that she's with the Knights! I want that too!"

"With freedom comes control, knowledge, and maturity." Saleh said.

"Are you saying I can't control myself? That I am somehow inferior to you?" Ewan asked.

"No, I'm saying your skill is great, but you are still a youth. Your knowledge is great, but you are not yet an adult. Give your body time to catch up with your talents and then you'll have freedom. But I warn you, it's not as free as it seems." Saleh explained calmly. Ewan was silent for a moment. Finally he said a small "Thank you, Teacher," and rode toward the back.

Artur had felt like he had intruded upon something. He had stayed silent, not wanting to trespass any further. He glanced behind him to see Ewan ride up next to Lute. After a moment they were immersed in a conversation. Artur turned back around and rode in silence. Saleh wasn't a master of magic without a good reason. He knew immediately that there was something wrong.

"You and Lute seem to be avoiding one another." He began quietly.

"Yes, what of it?"

"It seems strange to me that two people could become so close during the war and fall apart immediately after." Saleh said.

"What do you mean by that?" Artur asked.

"I'm sure you know, but I feel the need to explain myself. Whenever my gaze found you or Lute, you were always with the other, talking, eating, training, and taking watch. You seemed to be very close friends. I wonder why you both appear to have quarrel with the other. It seems to me that it would have to be something very serious in order to afflict your friendship. I wonder what it might be…?" Saleh directed a pointed look at him.

"It's nothing serious, truly it isn't." Artur assured him, now looking back on it and seeing the whole argument was rather childish indeed.

"Hm. Now, why doesn't that sound right?" Saleh asked, prodding him on. "If it were nothing serious, surely the two of you would be together, talking and such as friends would do?"

"I tell you, it isn't anything serious. We simply had a different point of view. This hasn't been the first and probably won't be the last, that's all."

"I have made a few observations during the war." Saleh mused aloud. "I have seen that emotions become intense during a time of peril, especially when the outcome is unpredictable. And now I am making another observation. It seems, after the peril has passed, emotions dull. I believe that to be rather odd, wouldn't you say, Artur? The logical result should be immense relief, and maybe hopeful thinking of a future. What say you, Artur?"

The copper haied sage sighed. Saleh was not going to let the subject go. "Let us just say, that emotions mask the truth and logic of life, particularly when the emotions are caused by peril. Let us also say now that the peril has passed, our minds are thinking clearly for the first time. She has chosen her path and I have chosen mine. She will venture the countryside as she wished and I will teach the youth at the temple if there are no missions for me from the temple elders."

Saleh thought over his words. "Is that really all that is stopping you? Has she made clear exactly her intentions?"

"Y—ah, I…don't remember…" Artur admitted.

Saleh smiled. "Well, then, there is nothing to be worried about, is there? If it is as you truly say, then you both will get over this minor obstacle." The Master from Caer Pelyn nudged his horse forward.

"Wait, you aren't inferring that Lute and I…that we're…"

"Close friends, isn't that what you meant?" Saleh supplied.

"Yes, that's all. Friends."

Saleh nodded and rode up to Moulder, Vanessa, Syrene, and Gilliam, the Frelian Knights. Artur rode alone in silence, simply thinking. His thoughts raced through his mind quickly, jumping from one topic to another without completing the thought. He was thinking of Lute—no, now it was the power of Bolting, the huge lightning bolts that killed instantly—would the temple have a mission for—it would be nice to see everyone—she was so stubborn—certain powers of magic and their intensity were quite terrifying—he would probably have to search for rogue fiends, there were a few still--. A cry of pain and shouts of alarm startled him from his thoughts. Artur looked around. Everyone had stopped.

"Prince Ephraim! Princess Eirika! Come quickly!" someone, Artur was too confused to recognize the voice, shouted. The leaders of their haggard army quickly dashed by him upon their mounts. The twin brother and sister dismounted a few feet from where Artur was. Everyone in the immediate area was backing up to allow room. Princess Eirika cast a glance around. Artur could see her expression was intensely worried.

"Natasha! Moulder! We need your help down here!" she called out. The cleric and priest, both highly advanced in their area of healing, hurried to the scene. Saleh rode up beside him, a frown on his face. Artur had to agree something was seriously wrong. Why would they need the help of two advanced healers? Artur noticed Saleh scanning the immediate area.

"What is it?" Artur asked.

"I don't believe everything is entirely right with this scene." Saleh murmured gravely.

Artur lowered his brows in confusion. "But what _did_ happen?" he asked. "Did you see?" Saleh seemed troubled, distracted. "Master Saleh?"

He frowned. "I must speak with the Prince and the Princess." He said, dismounting and slipping through the circle that had formed. Curious, Artur dismounted too and tried to follow him.

"Artur!" He looked around and saw Lute hurrying up to him. She looked frightened.

"Lute? What is it? What has happened?" Artur asked, confused.

"It's Knoll," she said quickly, naming the dark magic user from Grado.

"What's wrong?" Artur asked yet again. Lute clutched his arm, only causing him to grow more uneasy. Instead of answering his question, Lute led him through the circle of people. Artur froze as he saw what all the urgency had been about. Prince Ephraim looked thunderous and concerned at the same moment, his eyes scanning the hills around them. His sister and twin, Princess Eirika, was intensely concerned, hands clasped tight in prayer, eyes locked on Natasha and Moulder. The cleric and the priest were bowed over a body on the ground. Knoll. Crimson blood pooled around them. They each held staves of healing, their hands glowing with their power. Moulder shifted slightly and that is when Artur saw it. A sniper's arrow protruded from Knoll's chest.

**xXxXx**

**A/N: **Yes, yes, it **is**a cliffie. I know you'll probably be demanding me to update immediately too. But I just love cliffies! It's so fun teasing all the readers! Well, this is the first time I've really included Saleh in a serious conversation. I hope he's in character. He struck me as one of those wise teacher types. I think Ewan is in character. He seems like one of those curious boys that can't get enough adventure. So, **please **review!!! I need to know what you think!! I don't care if it's a simple "hi, the story is good" kind of messages. But I need reviews! I might have to start one of those incredibly annoying "reivew or I won't update" situations. I really don't want to do that. But it's up to **you!** So review!!


	4. Voice of the Dead

**A/N: **Hey, everyone. Sorry that it's been so long, even if it was only a couple of days. I should have updated on Sunday, the one week anniversary, but I never got around to it because I'm a procrastinator. Sorry, again. Bad Kayla, bad! By the way, Kayla is my real name, just in case you were wondering! Okay, don't be thinking I took more than a week just to type up four chapters, because I didn't. I actually have four more chapters prewritten, I just have updated them yet. I've learned that cliffies are only fun when you come up with them. Otherwise, they're a pain in the butt. Well, I believe I've kept you waiting long enough. So, read on, my eager little readers, read on!

**Disclaimer: **Disclaimers are depressing. I own nothing. There I said it, now I'm going to sulk in the corner and wait for reviews.

Enjoy and review!!!

**4) Voice of the Dead**

Lute stood next to Artur as Prince Eprhaim held an emergency meeting. Knoll had been placed in the supply wagon, settled between bags of grain. Natasha, a fellow Grado citizen, took this healing more seriously than any other. Moulder was with her in the wagon, assisting with the healing. The bolt had been carefully removed and healing administered, but that was all they knew. Ephraim paced in front of them, the now clean arrow in his hand. Eirika went to her brother and spoke a few words to him. He nodded and then addressed the army before him.

"As you all know, Knoll, has been severely wounded, shot with this arrow. Only a sniper could have aimed so well. This bolt just missed his heart. It has no obvious marking as to who it belongs to, but it is clear that we still have enemies. I want Seth, Duessel, Kyle, and Forde to ride out as captain of their teams. Pick you people and go quickly, north, south, east, and west. We need to find this sniper, we need to know who did this and why."

The four most trusted mounted knights of Renais left quickly, taking only a few people with them. Lute saw Artur was picked and left with Kyle. Lute also noticed that one magic user was with each group with the exception of Seth's team. He had picked Colm, the thief, instead. Colm would be more useful with his sharp eyesight. There were only a few remaining people that now stood before Ephraim and Eirika. Tana, Vanessa, Syrene, and Cormag were among them. They hadn't been chosen for fear they would be shot down. There was already one sniper and they didn't know how many more there were.

Ephraim locked eyes with Innes and Lute. "I would like you both to study this bolt." Innes approached and took it from Ephraim. He looked it over briefly and fit it into his own bow. He drew the string halfway taut before letting it slack.

"This arrow came from a high powered longbow." He thought aloud. "It's been designed to fly fast without making a sound." He looked up at Ephraim briefly. "That is why no one heard it until it was too late." He studied the arrow again. "Whoever made it had excellent craftsmanship. It's not made in a style I know of." He passed the arrow to Lute.

"What do you make of it?" Ephraim asked.

She turned it in her hands. "I've no training in archery. How am I to know—" she stopped, peering at a small symbol on the arrow's head. Lure frowned thoughtfully and stared at the symbol.

"Lute?" prompted Ephraim.

She blinked. "This, did you see this?" she tapped the head of the arrow. The two men crowded around, looking over her shoulder to where she was pointed.

"What is that?" Ephraim asked puzzled.

"I recognize this language." Lute began. "This is a language that doesn't exist anymore. It's no longer used, dead." She turned over the arrow again and again, eager to find more symbols and growing more excited as she did so. But a sudden thought came to her. "Ephraim, this language, it's…it's…"

"What?"

"It's the language spoken by the…fiends that served the Demon King." Lute said. Ephraim looked at her for a moment and then glanced up at Innes, whose expression was unreadable.

"Are you sure?" Ephraim asked.

"Yes," Lute said confidently. "I never forget the things I find interesting. These symbols are…" she hesitated. "They are warnings."

"Warnings? I'm afraid I don't understand." The prince said.

"Yes, but the symbols are only fragments and phrases. I don't think whoever crafted this arrow, or whoever hired the crafter knew much about this language. Here it says, 'nine to fall'. And here: 'justice be served', 'failures will pay'." Lute reported.

"Do you think Grado is behind this?" Innes asked.

"Why Grado? They wouldn't take shot at their own." Ephraim reasoned.

"But Knoll did give us vital information about the Dark Stone." Innes said. "Perhaps there are people who feel Knoll betrayed Prince Lyon, thus ending in the prince's death."

Ephraim frowned. "That doesn't mean the people behind this are from Grado."

The two men seemed to have forgotten about Lute as they continued to argue. "They are most susceptible to act like this. Why not Grado? Their Emperor is dead, their Prince was killed. They've no true leader. Of course they'd want to strike against us." Innes insisted.

"What of Jehanna? Their King died long before and their Queen was murdered. Surely they are a factor to consider."

"They have Joshua to rule them."

"You know he won't return to take the throne. That's exactly why he became a mercenary."

"Why are you defending Grado? They destroyed your castle and killed your father!" The prince of Frelia stabbed a finger out at Ephraim. "You of all people should suspect Grado. If I remember correctly, Grado was the one who turned on you and started this whole war."

"Innes! You know full well Emperor Vigarde was under the power of the Dark Stone and Prince Lyon was under the influence of the Demon King's soul. You can't accuse them of starting this!" Ephraim shouted. Ephraim wasn't the one to shout. He was a peaceful man, fiercely loyal and dedicated. It took a lot to make him shout. Innes slandering his dear, departed friend was more than enough. Lyon had been a gentle prince, wanting only to better the lives of his people. He had been shy at times, but a kinder soul there couldn't be found.

Eirika rushed forward and stepped between the two before a fight broke out. "Brother! Innes! Stop this at once! Fighting like this will solve nothing!" She exclaimed. "Innes, how dare you speak of such a thing? You should know, Lyon had never meant to hurt anyone! Lyon was too pure at heart. It is not his fault that he came upon the Demon King. It is not his fault that the Demon King possessed him body and soul. Brother, you must put this childhood rivalry behind you, both of you."

Ephraim's teal eyes were glittering. "I will not have the memory of Lyon tainted!" he exclaimed.

"Nor will it be." Eirika said calmly. "Peace, Brother. Peace, Innes. Now, please, let us not argue." The two princes stared at one another, ever the rivals no matter what occurred.

"I think you are both wrong." Lute said, speaking up, startling everyone for they had forgotten about her. She was still studying the arrow, having dimly overheard the argument.

"What do you think, Lute?" Ephraim asked calmly, turning away from Innes.

She looked up at him. "As I told you before, this language is dead. There are no longer any written tomes containing the information a person would need to write these messages. The people we are dealing with are more than likely very dangerous if they have knowledge of the language."

Innes narrowed his gray eyes suspiciously. "How do you know so much about this supposedly dead language."

"Myrrh taught me in her free time. Her people, the dragon folk—the Manakete, are the only ones who still use this tongue. Myrrh's father undoubtedly was still alive when the Demon King first rose into power. Myrrh told me that during the first war with the Demon King they took captives, but the fiends only knew their own tongue, the Voice of the Dead is what some called it. The Manakete had to learn the Voice in order to obtain information. It was just one way there were able to win." Lute explained. She looked at Ephraim with all seriousness. "Our assailants knew the language, albeit only a little. We can infer they have connections with the remaining monsters for they are the only others who use it. Myrrh is the last of her kind and I doubt they have her captive."

"Captive?" Ephraim repeated the word with disbelief and something like concern.

"Rest assured, Prince, I highly doubt they have capture Myrrh. She's too powerful and we only departed from her home in Darkling Woods a week or so ago." Lute said. The prince only nodded, his mind now distracted.

Innes, on the other hand, was focused on something completely different. He frowned. "Remaining? I thought they were all defeated."

Lute shook her head. "No, not all of them. The ones that are still alive are only rogues. They shouldn't become a threat, but…"

"But what?" Innes asked impatiently.

"If one sniper can nearly kill a mage in a crowd and still be able to get away…" Lute shrugged. "In any case, we cannot underestimate their power."

"'Nine to fall…'" Ephraim murmured. "What does that mean?"

"I assume the attackers have chosen a select few to kill, the ones they deem truly traitorous or whatever their reasoning may be." Lute put in.

"We have to find out who the targets are." Ephraim said. "It could be any of us…" His teal eyes widened slightly. "L'Arachel, Dozla, Rennac, and Myrrh! They don't know about what has happened. Do you think they'll be safe?"

"I'm sure L'Arachel could handle things on her own what with the 'blessed light' watching and guarding her." Innes scoffed. Lute tried to suppress a smile. Lady L'Arachel was a woman dedicated to her gods, often telling them about the many times she obliterated the fiends with her blessed light. She wasn't one to brag, though her stories did seem to slightly exaggerate.

"Still, it wouldn't hurt to warn them." Ephraim said. "Cormag," The fair haired Wyvern Knight stepped forward.

"Yes?"

"I want you to fly back to Rausten and warn Lady L'Arachel of the attack. Tell her it is nothing to take immediate action over, but it may amount to larger things. Also, try to find Myrrh. She might already have inkling as to what is going on, but warn her all the same." Ephraim told him.

"Yes, Prince Ephraim." Cormag swung into the saddle of his wyvern, which unfolded its mighty wings.

"Cormag," Ephraim stopped him before he took flight. "Be careful. I have faith you will come back in one piece. Nevertheless, this solo mission is dangerous." Cormag regarded him with aloof eyes. "I've no idea what we're up against. Be wary of everyone and everything."

"Yes, Prince Ephraim, I always am." The Wyvern Knight nodded and his mount took flight with a great sweeping of leathery wings. Soon Cormag disappeared from view.

"Should we contact Gerik and his mercenaries?" Ephraim asked.

Innes shook his head. "Even if we wanted to, I doubt we could be able to find the mercenary group. I'm sure they've already been hired to another task. If what Lute says is true—"

"I'm positive!" Lute cut in, which earned her a scowl from the Prince of Frelia.

"Then I highly doubt our enemy has any quarrel with mercenaries." Innes said, ever the practical one.

Ephraim sighed. "I suppose you're right. But, until we find out who our attackers are and what they want, I want to try to contact everyone in our army. Perhaps Ewan can tell us if he knows where his sister is. Surely Tethys will know where to find the others. I want them all to know someone wants to cause trouble. They could be possible targets."

Innes nodded reluctantly. "Very well, when Ewan returns, we'll ask him."

At that moment, Forde and his team galloped in. They all looked defeated, and Forde looked particularly vexed. Ephraim approached and Forde sighed. "Sorry, Ephraim, we couldn't find anything. The sniper must have gone another way. We went miles and spread out, but there was no trail. I decided to come back and give you the news."

Ephraim nodded. "That's all right, Forde. There are three other teams. Ewan is not with you, is he?"

"No, he's with Duessel's group." The honey haired knight responded. "So, any idea who's behind this?"

Ephraim shook his head. "No, we're still trying to figure that out. As far as we know, they're dangerous and might have connections to dark magic. They've proven they know something of the Voice of the Dead, the ancient language the fiends of the Demon King used. Nine of us are targeted, but we don't know who."

Forde shifted uneasily in the saddle and leaned on the saddle horn. "You don't think they've got something to do with the Demon King do you?" he asked.

"I pray not." Ephraim replied.

Forde only nodded, grim looking. Then he brightened suddenly. "Well, this'll make an interesting painting. Now, where did I leave my paints?" Forde turned his mount away, mumbling to himself about the lack of organization in an army.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey, I think I've figured out how to do line breaks!! Yay, no more xs! Anyway, now you know a little bit more about Knoll's condition, happy? And, oh my, the plot thickens!! Hee hee. And I just had to put Forde in the end. I love Forde. He's the comic relief. I crack up everytime I read support conversations with him.

And what are your thoughts on the attack? Hmmm? Who do you think is next? Any questions? Did I lose you anywhere at all? All you have to do is review and I'll try to answer your questions/comments/whatever else you send me. So, please**, review**!!!


	5. Revelations

**A/N: **Hello! Yes, I'm sure you're all excited for the new update! (And if you're not, you can at least pretend and make me happy! ) I deeply appreciate all the people reviewing! But, as I mentioned in the first chapter, I'm new to all of this and not too fluent in some of the terms you use. So, if anyone can tell me what "PATS" means, please tell me! I'm not sure whether to take the comment as a compliment or a gentle rebuke. So, please help me! I think it is my responsibility to give you readers a fair caution. The following chapter introduces many new ideas as to what's going on. I simply ask you keep an open mind and not decide "_that's_ what's going to happen" or "but she/he said _this_ would happen". Okay? Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **I think I might start a protest against disclaimers. I mean, this whole web site is called afterall. _Everyone_ should know _none_ of this is owned by the fans. DOWN WITH DISCLAIMERS! (grrr...I do not own Fire Emblem, happy?)

**5) Revelations**

Artur sighed wearily. He didn't think this search would be profitable. More than likely the sniper had someone waiting to fly him off to safety. The chances of actually finding a trail from the sniper were slim to none. Artur saw he wasn't the only one with the same thinking. Neimi looked rather bored, stringing and unstringing her bow. Franz tried to appear to be on task, searching the horizon, but the spark of determination was gone from his eyes. Kyle, ever serious and dedicated, scanned the hills. They were like this for quite a bit of time. Then Kyle spotted something.

"Artur, what is that?" the knight pointed to a figure skulking down a grassy hill, coming towards them. Artur squinted at the figure and recognized the monster even from the fair distance that separated them. He wasn't too alarmed though. There was only one.

"It is simply a mauthe doog, no trouble at all, really. Would you like me to banish it?" he asked.

Kyle nodded. "Go ahead. The less I see of these things, the better I feel."

"I must agree with you. Demon dogs are no fun at all." Artur said. He held his magic tome, muttered a command word under his breath and flung out a hand. The mauthe doog yelped, a sound as chilling as the winter wind screaming through the trees. It burst into ashes as the Lightning crashed into it.

"Are there any more?" Kyle asked, glancing around. "I know from experience these monsters don't travel alone."

Artur lowered his brows in concentration. "I don't sense anymore. That's odd. Mauthe doogs, because they are so weak, often travel in packs of twelve to overwhelm their prey.

"Maybe they've gotten smarter and lie in wait for us." Franz suggested.

"Perhaps…" Artur said. Just as he said it, five demonic canines ran down the slope toward them.

"Neimi, Artur, get to it!" Kyle shouted as he galloped his horse forward to meet another group of mauthe doogs coming in the opposite direction. Neimi went with Kyle to provide backup while Artur joined Franz. The fair haired youth crashed into a few of the fiends, slashing downward with his sword from atop of his mount which kicked out at the monsters. Artur murmured command word after command word, felling the demons left and right from afar. Another two groups crept up behind the divided team and tried to take advantage. Both Neimi and Artur had to leave Kyle and Franz momentarily to bring down the undead canines rushing their way. Neimi's bolts rained down from the sky, turning the reanimated corpses into pincushions. Artur burned them away with Fire and Lightning, trying not to tire himself out with the bigger magic like Elfire and Divine. But soon the demons were either turned to ash, hacked to pieces, or had so many arrows in them that is would be impossible for anyone to resurrect them. The thought of someone resurrecting them didn't consciously cross their minds. It was habit that forced them to completely obliterate the fiends. It was habit that made Artur set Fire to all the fallen carcasses.

"There, that should be the end of them." Artur said while watching the pile burn, wiping the sweat from his brow. Kyle cleaned the gore from his sword and sheathed it. Franz did the same and waited for command from Kyle. Neimi half unstrung her bow, another habit of war. Her arrows remained in easy reach.

"Should we continue?" Franz asked, waiting patiently.

"Artur, what are the chances the sniper went through this area with all the mauthe doogs around?" Kyle asked him. Artur had to admit he was a bit surprised by the action.

"Well, a sniper alone, on foot, would be easy pickings from these mongrels; on horseback, perhaps he might have escaped; in the air definitely, but that would require a flying companion. There are a number of possibilities, but if he had more than one companion, these monsters wouldn't be here. As Franz said, they _have_ gotten smarter. This was a normal sized pack, so I don't think the sniper attempted to take shot if he did pass through." Artur explained.

"So, what is your conclusion?" Kyle asked.

"No, I don't think the sniper came in this direction. He must have taken a different path." Artur answered.

Kyle nodded. "Very well, we'll turn around and report this to Prince Ephraim." The team trudged back in the direction they had come from. "Was anyone injured?" Kyle asked from the front. Neimi and Artur both replied no.

"It's just a scratch." Franz replied. Kyle halted and turned back to him. He nodded for Franz to show him. The youth extended his arm. Artur could see a mauthe doog had cleverly launched an attack on unprotected bend in Franz's armor where his elbow was. Blood darkened the sleeve and stained the green armor. Kyle went closer for a better look, taking the youth's arm and turning it toward him.

Kyle nodded. "A vulnerary should take care of it. You wouldn't want infection to set in." the green haired knight passed a wineskin filled with a liquid that had healing properties to him. Franz opened the cap and poured a small amount on to his arm. Already the blood was congealing the retreating into the wound. Artur knew in a matter of minutes there would be no trace of injury.

They slowly made their way back the many miles to where the others were camped. They said nothing for most of the journey. Neimi rode up to him.

"So, what do you think is happening?" she asked.

"Do you mean why there are rogue monsters or why Knoll was shot?" Artur asked back.

"Mm, both I guess."

"Well, there are rogue fiends about because when the Demon King was resurrected, his power revived _all_ of his servants. The ones we fought in the war were probably only three quarters of the total number. The others, the rogues we are facing now, were the smarter ones. They hid not only because the Demon King probably commanded them to, but because they were smarter than all the others. Now that their master is bound again, hopefully for the last time, gods bless, they roam freely. Because they hid, they were most likely protected from the backlash of power the Demon King created when he was destroyed and bound again." Artur explained.

"Wow, you know a lot about this." Neimi commented in awe.

Artur smiled and shrugged. "When you are a Sage, you've seen a lot. The temple did originally send me to cleanse the lands of the fiends. I've studied them for quite awhile, but not nearly enough as Lute has done. Whenever I saw her in the temple, she was always reading a book about them. _Always._ Conversations with her were impossible, unless, of course, it was a conversation about the book she was reading at the time. Now, what was your other question?"

"Oh, right. Why do you think Knoll was shot?"

"There's a multitude of answers for a question like that at the moment. It could be treason, a personal quarrel, revenge, maybe even jealously." Artur replied.

"But, why now? Why not in the war?" Neimi asked.

"Well, perhaps this person or persons also dislike peace, or sided with the Emperor, unconsciously siding with the Demon King. Like I said, there's no real answer until we have more information, of which I'm hoping to receive when we arrive back at camp." He said.

They fell silent again and continued their ride home. When they arrived at camp Artur saw that all of the teams had arrived before them. Kyle led his team over to where Prince Ephraim was waiting. Kyle gave him his report and Artur added in information whenever Kyle gestured for him to. Once they were dismissed and the horses taken care of, Artur looked around for Lute only to find that she was a few feet from him. They stood in awkward silence for a long endless moment.

She met his light brown eyes with her deep purple ones. "I'm sorry." She said quietly. Artur blinked. He certainly wasn't expecting that. "My pride makes things difficult, I know. I'm sorry. I say things I don't mean and regret them later." She looked sincere and rather down. He knew she was in one of her moods, moods that weren't caused by a simple, nonsense argument. There was more behind it. Nevertheless, Artur approached her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Apology accepted." He said. "Now, whatever is the matter? You look like you have something on your mind."

"Oh. No. Not really." She replied with a too serious face.

"Lute…"

"Fine, well, no matter what I say, Innes won't believe me. Just because he's a prince and can string a bow doesn't mean he can't consider my ideas." Lute said irritably.

"Is your pride hurt again?" Artur asked with a teasing smile as they walked past the tents.

"Yes, I suppose so. He's just so…so…annoying!" Lute exclaimed. "He acts as though I'm nothing but a peasant with silly little ideas. It's infuriating! Does he know anything about the Voice of the Dead? No. Does he realize how dangerous our enemy is if they can write in the Voice? No. Does he know that the rogue fiends could be behind all of it? No. No, no, no, no, no. He doesn't know anything and yet he completely ignores me!"

"Wait. Slow down, Lute. What's this about the Voice of the Dead and the rogue fiends?" Artur asked, shocked.

Lute blinked. "Oh. I suppose I forgot to tell you. Well…" They both sat on the grassy area near the tents. Lute proceeded to tell him all that had happened while he was away. Artur listened in shock. This was much more than he had realized. When she had finished, Artur sat in stunned silence. Lute grinned wryly at him.

"A little too much to take in, isn't it?" Lute asked.

"Where's the arrow now?" he asked.

"With Ephraim," Lute answered. "But, that's what I think. The leaders of each kind of monster, generals if you wish to think of them like that, are coming out of hiding. They are to avenge their master somehow, right? So why take out a few people in the army that defeated their master? Of course, I don't think any of them are that good of a shot with a bow. That would have to be a real sniper."

"But why would any human want to work for them?" Artur asked.

"Maybe the human sniper is being forced against his will."

"How?"

"The gorgon general, it might have powers the others haven't." Lute said. "It's a possibility. The power of persuasion, very mighty indeed."

"But why only nine?" Artur asked, coming to the only point in the entire scheme that didn't make sense.

"That I haven't figured out…yet." She said. "If I had found out my master had been defeated and bound, and I had inkling as to who had done it, I'd kill the entire army."

"Yes, but you're human, they are not." Artur pointed out. "We think differently. Humans would destroy an entire army because we naturally have a thirst for revenge. But…these monsters are smarter; they know the difference between pointless bloodshed and accurate revenge."

Lute pondered over that thought. "So…what your saying is, don't deliver a huge blow, simply deliver—"

"A crippling one." Artur finished. "What do a few limbs matter if you can have the head and heart of the body?"

Lute's eyes were wide. "You're right! We've been wrong all along! Gerik and his mercenaries are perfectly safe. Lady L'Arachel is probably safe as well. It was Eirika, Ephraim, and General Seth that delivered the most fatal of blows to the Demon King. The fiend generals would go after them! We've got to tell them!" Lute made a move to stand. Artur caught her hand and pulled her back down.

"No, not yet."

"What?! But…but Artur!"

"We don't have proof they're in any serious danger. If the fiends really did want to avenge their master in the way we've thought up, then why did the sniper shoot Knoll and not Ephraim or Eirika? They were up front, Knoll was toward the back. Shooting Knoll was not a mistake. Perhaps we're wrong. We can't tell them yet, not until we've more proof, something to back up our theory with." He said calmly.

"I say we should warn them anyway, open them up to new possibilities." Lute protested.

"Lute…this isn't a pride booster, is it?" Artur studied her face carefully. She looked tempted to say something, but glanced at him and decided against it. Her beautiful deep violet eyes looked downward.

"I'm not sure… I want them to be safe, no matter what the fiends' ideas are. But…oh, I just want Innes to listen to me." Lute sounded ashamed, but determined at the same time. "Maybe if he realizes he's an important aspect to the theory, he'd stop acting so snobbish and listen with an open mind."

"Lute…" Artur absently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "You can't let your anger get in the way of this. Right now everyone is a target; everyone is vulnerable to an attack, especially now that we know our enemy can attack and slip away without a trail to follow."

Lute nodded. "You're right." She stared down at their hands. Artur felt himself begin to blush and released her hand. He stood, clearing his throat.

"Well, ah, care for some target practice?" he asked, turning his face away until the heat in his face faded. Lute stood from the grassy ground.

"Are you suggesting we purposely go out and look for fiends to destroy?" she asked with a mischievous tone.

Artur returned the grin. "Why not? Don't you know the Voice? We could…collect information, while, in the meantime, use them as target practice."

"I do know a bit of the Voice. Myrrh taught some phrases to me. Yes, I don't see why not. Let's go ask Eirika and Ephraim. I'm sure they'd approve once they realize this will be for informational purposes."

"Oh, honestly, Lute. You just want to tear those monsters apart…with love of course." Artur teased.

"You know, Artur, I really do think those revenants are cute." She replied as they walked through the camp. Trying to imagine the rotted corpses reanimated by dark magic as "cute" was more difficult than anyone could possibly realize.

Artur grimaced. "Really, Lute, I'll never understand the fondness you have for the most horrid of things."

Lute just smiled. "Don't worry, Artur, I think you're horrid too."

Artur froze for a full few seconds. He blinked, trying to work out the enigma that was Lute. Whatever did that _mean?_

"Are you coming, Artur, or do I have to collect information all by myself?" Lute called back. "You act like you've been frozen by a blast of the icy Fimbulvetr."

Artur blinked again and then hurried to catch up.

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**A/N:** I hope you now understand why I said keep an open mind. Anything could happen! Don't fixate your mind on one theory even if it sounds logical. I just might change everything! I hope I didn't lose you anywhere. In my other stories, I tend to wander in my explanations and make everything a **huge** jumbled mess. Any quesitons, just review, okay? Well, you should be reviewing anyway...

**Review please!!!!! **


	6. Damsel in Distress

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Welcome to the new year! I'm sorry if I haven't updated in awhile. But, to make up for it, here's the latest update. But, I need people to review! Please! I only have one regular reviewer and that's pretty depressing. I did have a few other reviewers, but they have either forgotten me or are too lazy to review. I'm starting to wonder if I should bother updating since no one tells me their opinion. But, if you think I should continue, tell me! In a review!

**Disclaimer: **Disclaimers should die. End of story. (oh, I don't own Fire Emblem by the way. As if that weren't obvious enough.)

Enjoy and review!

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**6) "Damsel" in Distress**

"Come on, Artur! I think there are some over that way!" Lute called, galloping off. Artur sighed and kicked his mount into a gallop. Lute had dragged him all over the area, determined to find fiends to annihilate. They hadn't found one yet…unless you counted the spider Artur "accidentally" blasted when it had landed on his arm. They had traveled through the forest, which was crawling with spiders. Artur grimaced as he remembered. He'd been lucky enough not to incinerate his sleeve in his frantic attack.

He remembered what Lute had told him just after: "Honestly, Artur, what are you going to do when a bael attacks?" Even now Artur shuddered to think of the enormous beast. Baels were spiders larger than a war horse with beady eyes and fangs either dripping with venom or made of unbreakable steel. The elder baels, a higher rank than just normal baels, were even more dangerous.

"Lute, are you looking for a specific fiend? Or do you just like towing me everywhere like luggage?" He called up to her. She replied with only a grin. He didn't particularly like that grin. He'd seen that grin whenever Lute had faced a fiend that posed as a challenge. Lute had smiled like that when she felled her first gorgon.

"Technically, I'm not towing you. You are the one who came up with this idea. And you are not luggage, Artur. You are…" There it was again. That grin.

"I'm what?" Artur asked, fearing what her answer would be, especially when she was grinning like that.

"You are...bait." she said.

Artur felt a sense of dread form in his stomach like a lead weight. "Bait?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Yes, you are going to be a 'damsel in distress' as some would say."

"Damsel?" he repeated again. He didn't like where this was going at all.

"Oh, it's fairly easy. Just wander around here in the forest and act like you are lost or some other predicament. If these fiends really are smarter, I want to study them in action." Lute said, seeming excited.

"I'm not an experiment, Lute!" Artur burst out.

She blinked. "I never said you were. You can hardly do the studying if you are fighting, now can you?" Lute began to nudge her mount in the opposite direction. "Just don't attack them straight off, I wish to see what form of attack they would use." She rode off at a slow walk away from him.

"When I said collecting information, this _wasn't_ what I had in mind!" Artur called after her. But she didn't respond. Artur sighed, almost groaning with exasperation. He was left alone in the middle of a forest with gods know what in there with him. _Anything but bael,_ he thought to himself, even though he knew full well the huge bael preferred mountainous regions. He looked around him for a minute, feeling the effects of absolute silence. He did what any other person would in this situation: start muttering to themselves.

"Now what does she expect me to do?"

His horse walked aimlessly now that Artur no longer held the reins.

"I suppose this is how you act lost?" he stared blankly at the trees around. "Or do you panic and frantically search for a way out? That would probably draw more attention."

He picked up the reins and was tempted to spur his mount, but then stopped. "But, I wonder, how will Lute follow? Surely not on foot. But upon horseback would draw attention to her and not me. Hmm…"

The horse tugged the reins from Artur's slack hands and continued on its own way. The horse spotted a lovely patch of green grass and decided to snack since its rider clearly wasn't interested in going anywhere in particular. Meanwhile, Artur had tangled his mind into knots. He wasn't sure what to do.

"Or perhaps, if I sent Lightning out, the fiends would come to me, wouldn't they?" he frowned, brows furrowed. "But that would also be a waste of energy… What if I am ambushed later? I wouldn't have enough energy! Suppose I'm severely wounded, what should I do? I'd be snack for whatever comes along!"

Artur, deep in his babbling, didn't hear what his mount heard. The horse picked up its head and pricked its ears. It heard something odd. The odd sound reminded it of the grotesque creatures its master had battled long ago. It flicked its ears, snorting nervously.

"What if Lute becomes lost or falls behind? I'd be left on my own. I'd have to go back and find her… wherever… she… is… I don't know where she is… She could be lost for days!"

The horse, antsy, took a few steps in nearly every direction. It didn't know where to go; that was the master's job. It knew something was terribly wrong, but shouldn't its rider be doing something about that? It started to walk in a different direction. Artur now had been reduced to using wild hand gestures.

He flung his hands skyward. "O divine light, help me!" he ran a hand through his mass of copper hair, the image of anxiety. "What if she never returns?! What if _I_ never return?! What if there really is_ bael_ here?!" His hands gripped his head, his fingers entangled in his hair. Slowly his hands slid down to his cheeks in disbelief. "I'm…lost. I'm lost!"

The horse was already agitated and it didn't help any that its ride was also emitting emotions of panic. The horse did the only thing it could with an anonymous creature lurking in the trees nearby. It bolted.

"And what if—AH!" Artur scrambled to grab the reins as his mount suddenly took off. "Hey! Slow down! O divine light, what have I gotten myself into now?" Artur tugged back on the reins, but to no avail. His mount was out of control. He was ready to leap from the saddle when the first maelduin lunged out from the trees. The axe missed him by scant inches. Artur turned to see the half-horse, half-man creature give chase.

"Well, I did say anything but a bael…" Artur reached for his Lightning tome in his saddlebag, but stopped, remembering Lute's words. "I pray this horse will last." Artur muttered, realizing he couldn't fight back. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw, with dread, a second maelduin had joined the first. The second held a bow.

"Gods, I just never get a break, do I?" Artur muttered. An arrow streaked toward him and Artur bent low over his mount's neck, avoiding the arrow in time.

"Lute! I hope you're happy!" he shouted. Ahead he saw a floating eye, a mogall, appear. He groaned. "Gods, help me!" A second arrow flew over his shoulder.

"All right, that's _it!_" Artur pulled the tome from his saddlebag and shouted out the command word, directing the bolt of Lightning at the mogall just as it was casting its own dark spell. The mogall burst into ash, but it had already released its power. The violet bands of dark magic lashed out at him. His mount leapt away and Artur dodged the attack. Now that the path ahead was clear, his mount charged on. Artur turned in the saddle again to see the second maelduin knock another arrow into place on its bow.

The first maelduin, the axe wielder, was quickly gaining ground. The trees were thinning ahead and Artur prayed it was the end of the forest. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, it was not the end of the forest, but merely a clearing. Artur felt his spirits rise anyway. Perhaps he could make his stand there. They burst from the trees and Artur managed to slow his mount and swing it around so they faced the oncoming enemies. Artur confidently held his tome and waited. He didn't have to wait long. The two maelduins emerged from the forest. A third arrow shot toward him. Artur's horse edged out of range in time to miss the bolt. Artur's chant rang out clear and the Lightning snapped past the first maelduin to score the second one. To his dismay, the bow wielding maelduin still ran on as if unaffected.

"Argh! Be cleansed, fiend!" Artur shouted, irritated that the Lightning wasn't enough. The second Lightning strike took it down, reducing it to ash. Unfortunately, Artur had momentarily forgotten about the first maelduin who was now upon him before he could react. The axe came down.

"Ah!" Artur spurred his mount away, a hand on his bleeding shoulder. The wound burned with fiery pain, but he had to ignore it for now. With one hand, Artur took the tome and repeated the command word again, this time with less vigor, but it worked all the same. The maelduin took the hit directly and went down in a burst of ash. His mount slowed to a halt. Artur balanced the Lightning tome on one leg and searched for the healing stave he had with him. But, before he could find it, the ambush came. He cried out in frustration again and picked up the tome.

There were many bonewalkers around him, even a few wights. A few entombed lurched out from the trees, claws dripping with poison. Then a dreaded cyclops appeared with thundering footsteps. Artur's mount let out a squeal of fear and shifted from side to side. Artur felt his heart sink. He might be able to defeat the entombed and bonewalkers easily enough, but the cyclops was a different matter completely. One-on-one with a cyclops was a death wish. They were sluggish and the attacks could be easy to miss, but they were a powerhouse that couldn't be brought down very easily. Where was Lute? With her here, this battle might be manageable. Artur sighed and calmed himself. He'd just have to do the best he could on his own without Lute.

The bonewalkers and wights came in fast with deadly accuracy. His horse shied away and sprinted a few steps. It lashed out with hooves while Artur sent bolts of Lightning crashing down upon them. Most of the bonewalkers and entombed had been destroyed within a short time. Only a few entombed, many of the wights, and the cyclops remained. The horse panted with exhaustion and quivered with fear. Artur decided that Lightning wouldn't get the job done quickly enough. He withdrew an Elfire from his saddlebag and read off the command words. The wights nearest him went up in a torrent of flame. By now, Artur was feeling exhausted. The energy required to transfer the Light energy from a set of written words to an actual weapon was large depending on how potent the magic was. But that didn't include the loss of blood from his injury. A javelin was flung his way and Artur missed it by scant inches. Three wights advanced and an entombed attempted an attack with its poison covered claws. The fiend managed only to rip his sleeve before it was consumed by Elfire.

A wight launched an attack with its short spear in close range. Artur's horse backed up, hooves flailing as it reared. He unleashed another burst of Elfire at the lumbering cyclops a fair distance away. He summoned enough energy to burn away the few wights. He now faced the cyclops. Artur felt the tremors of exhaustion begin. He knew with utmost certainty that he couldn't survive the cyclops's attack alone. He uttered another incantation, but the Elfire didn't seem to faze the monster at all. Artur struggled to find a stronger magic tome. He found a Divine and strained to complete the spell. The outcome attack was weak and the cyclops only staggered back a step. The cyclops swung down with its huge Battle Axe. Artur's horse jerked to the side and, Artur, not prepared for it, fell to the dirt. The axe continued downward.

Suddenly the air was filled with an amazing crackling energy. There was a bright flash of light and a burst of heat. Artur raised his good arm to fend off the aftershocks of such a powerful attack. He squinted through the bright spots of the afterimage and looked around. Smoking ash was all he found. Artur faintly smiled with relief. That had been a Bolting, a devastating attack far stronger than Thunder or Lighting.

"Artur!"

Lute.

He struggled to sit up, doing his best to ignore the agony of his wounded arm. Lute appeared upon her horse and swung to the ground. She hurried toward him, a tome of Bolting under her arm. She scanned the area quickly before turning to him.

"Will you be all right?" she asked, giving him a hand up.

He offered a wavering smile. "I will be. I just need to get a Heal from my saddlebags." He said and walked unsteadily toward his mount. Because he had the rank of Sage, he could do a limited amount of healing until a professional cleric or priest saw to his needs. He retrieved the stave and muttered the command words. The wound stopped bleeding and healed over. Artur studied the wound and decided it wasn't serious enough to worry either Natasha or Moulder. He swung into the saddle and looked over at Lute who was waiting for him. He rode over to her.

"I hope you're satisfied with yourself." He said, irritation finding its way into his voice.

"I'm sorry about that. I found the whole battle very fascinating and I couldn't help but to continue to watch. The action! The skilled moves! The strategies! The battle to the death!" Lute exclaimed, purple eyes shining with excitement.

Artur simply grunted his skepticism. He doubted Lute was truly sorry about leaving him to face the cyclops alone. She got what she wanted: a display of strategy. "So, what critical data did you collect? Or were you too busy gawking over my incredible display of skill?" he asked with a hint of teasing.

"Oh, data…right. We'll have to find more monsters to battle." She looked at him with a frown. "And what skill are you talking about? I saw sheer luck." She grinned to show she was joking.

"Lute! You mean to tell me I nearly died and you didn't get _any_thing?!"

"You didn't 'nearly' die. In fact, if you had used a Vulnerary I bet you would have won against that cyclops. I know I would have." She said.

Artur sighed. "I'm not going to be the 'damsel' any longer today. I would rather we go back to camp now."

"But…but we didn't learn anything!" Lute protested.

"I did." Artur replied. "I learned you should _never_ go along with any plan _you_ think up." Lute frowned and fell silent. "Oh, please, Lute. I didn't mean to offend you, I'm just…tired. We'll venture out again tomorrow. Just…not now."

"Well…oh, all right." Lute sighed and took the lead. Artur nearly fell asleep on the ride back, but, remembering the spider from a few days ago, wisely decided to stay awake. It was late in the afternoon, almost evening when they rode into camp. Ewan spotted them and hurried over.

"Hey, where were you all day? Saleh told me you were out battling monsters. Well, really he said something about finding out what's been happening, but I figured you've been fighting." Ewan said.

"We have. Well, Artur has. I've been observing." Lute said.

Ewan noticed the dried blood on Artur's sleeve. "Whoa, what happened to you?"

"I became a damsel in distress." Artur replied with a deadpan expression. Ewan stared at him oddly.

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**A/N: **Reviews! Reviews for the poor! Please, it'll only take a few minutes! Tell me if I should continue this story or not! If someone doesn't give me an answer soon, I just might delete the story since it's so unpopular. Hey, this story is in your hands, readers. YOU decide. Tell me in a review!! 


	7. Interview with a Fiend

**A/N:** I'm am SO sorry that I haven't updated in...years! (Okay, not years, but it felt like it.) All of those who have checked out my profile in the past few days will know that I had my computer taken away (which included all my files for this fanfic). I checked up on my fanfic now and then using my mom's computer, but I was unable to update. But now that my parents are out of the house for another few hours, I have found my computer in my mom's closet and came straight here. So, I hope you're happy. I'm going behind my mom's back for the sake of my readers. And I thank my reviewers (which are now only TWO) for supporting me and telling me to continue.

Frankly, I don't understand what is so hard about reviewing. You click and button, type some words and hit the Send Review button. It's not rocket science, so...why doesn't anyone review??? I've checked my stats and guess what. There are 502 views and only 10 reviews. That is utterly depressing. I've made it on one person's fav list and one person's alert list. That I'm proud of. But why don't you send me any reviews?!?!

**Disclaimer:** Hmm...what's more depressing? The disclaimer or only ten reviews out of 502 views? Hmm...I think it might be the reviews. Anyway...DEATH TO THE DISCLAIMER!!

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**7) Interview with a Fiend**

Lute pulled on her worn boots and stepped out of her tent. It was still fairly early in the morning. The sun sat on the horizon in the distance. She walked over to the tent besides hers and opened the entrance flap slightly, peering in. Artur was still asleep, only his red-gold head visible in the bedroll. Lute crept in. She crouched beside him and shook his shoulder.

"Artur! Hey, Lazybones, get up!" she said in a hushed voice. He mumbled something, but she didn't quite catch it. "What did you say? Artur?" Lute continued to shake him. She received no response. She sighed and bent over his head.

"Artur… There's a bael attacking!" she whispered quickly.

"Mm…wha? Bael?!" He shot upright, glancing around frantically, albeit a little groggy. Lute couldn't help it. She laughed. He scowled, sleepy eyes and unruly hair making the entire situation more amusing.

He grunted. "I hope you're happy because I'm not."

Lute smothered her laughs with a hand. "Sorry, but it was the only way to wake you." She apologized, still grinning.

"Hn, I'm sure. Now, leave so I can dress." He muttered. Artur was dressed in plainclothes and Lute saw that his robes were in a pile with his light leather armor.

"All right. I will go see how Knoll fares." Lute exited the tent and wandered her way to the infirmary tent. It was larger than most tents, cleaner, and had the symbol of a healing stave stitched into the fabric.

Lute peeked in. "Hello? Natasha? Moulder?"

The fair haired, gentle cleric appeared from the back of the tent. She smiled wearily. "Hello Lute. Do you need something?"

"I came to see how Knoll is faring." Lute said.

Natasha's smile brightened. "He's doing much better. I expect a full recovery, but it will take some time." she reported. "You can some in if you like."

Lute shook her head. "No, that's all right. I'm going to find out more about what happened with Artur."

"Very well, I hope you have success, and be careful." The cleric replied.

"Thank you. I hope you have success as well." Lute said, and then walked away. Artur met her before she went too far from the infirmary. She noticed his robes had been washed of the blood and the sleeve was crudely sewn. He also held two magic tomes.

"What did you find out?" he asked.

"Knoll is well; he'll make a full recovery." Lute said and strode on through the camp.

"Are we taking horses again?" he asked as they walked past the tied up animals.

"No."

"No? Where are we going?" Artur asked from behind her.

"We're going over the hills to the plain below. We would be perfect targets for mogalls or gargoyles." Lute explained as if it were obvious.

"When you say 'we', who do you mean exactly?" he asked, unease creeping into his voice.

Lute turned to him with a look of puzzled innocence. "Why, both of us, of course. Did you think I'd abandon you?"

"I can fairly say I have no idea how you think." Artur said, following her out of camp.

"I suppose I can not expect an average Sage like you to understand my brilliant, brilliant mind." Lute remarked with a grin. She heard an exasperated huff from behind her.

"Do you realize we will be virtually defenseless in the open?"

"Yes, I know. That is the whole point of being in the open." Lute said.

"If I did not know you as well as I do, I would think this was a suicide mission." Artur said frankly.

Lute looked over at him, pausing as they climbed up through the hills. "You should not worry. I would not let you die."

"You were cutting it awful close last time." he grumbled.

"But I did save you, didn't I?" she pointed out.

"Yes, I admit you did." Artur said as they resumed their walk. "I'm glad you were there, though it was you who put me in that predicament in the first place."

Lute glanced at him with a smile. "But you must admit, the whole experience was very interesting. The way they tried to trap you, ambush you—they are smarter than your average monsters. They were not generals, but they were clever. I wonder why."

"It may have been amusing for you, but it was far from enjoyable for me." Artur replied. Lute noticed him rub his shoulder.

"How fares you shoulder?" she asked as they crested the hills.

His hand dropped away. "I will be fine. My shoulder is only a little stiff. Tomorrow it should be gone."

Lute nodded and silence fell around them. They had left the hills and were entering the vast, open plain. They stood for a moment, staring out at the flat, empty land. Lute scanned the area, picking out the best spot in which to take position.

"We will have to advance into the center. That is the only way the fiends will see us. This way, we will be able to study how they perform an aerial attack. We may even be able to capture one long enough to talk to it." Lute explained, already feeling the giddiness rise within at the notion of communication with the long feared servants of the Demon King.

"Lute," Artur placed a hand on her shoulder. "Just be careful. These creatures are still dangerous. They are smarter than usual. We cannot underestimate them." He cautioned.

"Artur, Artur," She patted his hand sympathetically. "There is no need to be worried. My magic will destroy the abominations, you'll be safe." She started to walk off and almost faltered in her step when she heard him mutter under his breath.

"It is not me I am worried about."

But she quickly gained her composure and led on. They had a fair distance to travel before they left the shadow of the hills. She knew her feet would begin to hurt from all the walking, but she could handle it. She knew this whole idea did seem slightly mad, but she could handle it. She was a prodigy. A prodigy could handle anything.

**

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"There they are!" Lute pointed skyward. Artur looked up, feeling a sense of dread. She was right. A horde of gargoyles swooped down out of the sky, sending spears and javelins raining down upon them. Artur scrambled out of the way.**

"Hurry, Artur, fight back!" Lute called out. Artur opened the Lightning tome and began to chant. Bolts of Lightning crashed into the winged fiends, causing smoking remains to slam into the ground. The shrieking battle cries rang in his ears. Artur narrowly missed a spear that thudded into the ground near his feet. Four gargoyles swooped down. Only one managed to fly away, the other three now ash and dust.

"Artur, if you think Lightning is going to destroy all of these creatures, you are sadly mistaken." Lute called over to him.

"I'm conserving my energy." Artur called back.

She frowned. "For what?" she asked as another gargoyle fell from the sky.

"The deathgoyles over there." Artur said and pointed to the larger beasts, more powerful than their cousins and deep purple in color. There were half a dozen of them and they were already taking the places of their fallen comrades. They were swifter and more powerful than they had been during the war. Artur was almost certain these stronger fiends had hidden during the war in case something such as the destruction of their master happened.

"Artur! We have to keep one of the deathgoyles alive! They will know more than these others. Try to rid yourself of the gargoyles quickly. These deathgoyles are more careful, they will hang back until they find an opportunity. But they will flee if they feel their odds are slim." Lute told him.

"I will do my best. I cannot promise anything." Artur warned.

"Try to keep one alive." Lute repeated, annihilating a monster. All conversation was soon impossible as the creatures bore down on them. Each was lost in concentration and the power of their magic. Artur jumped back as a deathgoyle tried to stab him with its steel lance. The numbers were diminishing, the beasts falling out of the sky as fast as Lute's and Artur's magic could find them. After what seemed like ages, there were only a few left. The five deathgoyles dove as one, two sending down javelins. The spears were easily avoided, but the fiends closed in for close ranged attack.

Lute lashed out with a burst of Thunder. The deathgoyle fell from the sky. Artur finished the incantation and another monster dissolved to nothing. A third deathgoyle flew in from behind her, lance at the ready. Artur saw this and cried out a chant.

"Lute, watch out!" Artur sent the bolt streaking toward the fiend. It collapsed into a pile of ash.

"Thank you." Lute said, a little surprised a monster had gotten through her defenses. "Only two remain now. Artur, look out!" Artur leapt to the side, but the deathgoyle's claws raked his sleeve.

"Hey! I had just sewn that!" Artur shouted at it, irritated that his half an hour effort was ruined in seconds. He muttered the command words and sent a torrent of Elfire its way. The beast barely had a chance to scream. He scowled at the dusty remains. When he turned he found Lute watched him, amused. "What?" he asked her.

She shook her head with a smile. "Nothing, just remind me to never get on your bad side." She then became alert and stared behind him. "Be aware, Artur, the last one is coming. Try to capture it, if you can." She directed. Artur turned to face the last of the fiends and prepared the Elfire chant on his tongue. The deathgoyle drew nearer and nearer with impressive speed. At the last moment, the words spewed from his lips and a ring of brilliant Elfire surrounded the monster. It came to a hasty stop, singeing its wings. It let out a livid shriek and glared at Artur through the fire.

"Hurry, Lute. I can only hold this so long." Artur urged. Lute nodded and stepped forward. She and the deathgoyle stared at one another for a long moment. Then Lute spoke in a language both guttural and smooth. Artur listened in awe. He would never be able to learn such a complex tongue! Lute spoke fluently as if the language was natural for her. The deathgoyle seemed to be surprised, if such a creature could express emotion. It hesitated a moment, seeming to consider her words. Finally, it spoke in the same language, but its words were fast and more fluent than Lute's. She seemed a bit overwhelmed, but she responded again in the Voice, her expression demanding. Whatever the fiend had said, it was not what Lute had wanted. The deathgoyle stared at her again, its grip tight on the lance it held. It uttered a brief syllable, obviously a refusal. Lute pressed her lips together, her expression both frustrated and patient, like she was staring at a very complex puzzle.

Artur was patient, though. He knew from the start it would take much time to crack a fiend and learn its secrets. He was careful with how much energy was being discharged. He kept the flow constant, but reduced. Artur hoped the fiend would not try to break from the prison as it probably would with enough force. Lute continued with her interrogation, apparently threatening it for the creature's red eyes flitted over to the Sage. It turned back angrily to her and snorted as if unfazed. This continued for many more minutes. Finally, Lute spoke to Artur in their native tongue.

"Artur, tighten the circle will you please? Our captive does not seem to take us seriously." Lute said, not taking her eyes from it. Artur nodded and made a simple gesture with his hands. The ring of fire narrowed, causing the deathgoyle to shift uneasily. Its red eyes narrowed in obvious anger at Lute. She spoke again the sounds more guttural than sleek. It grunted at her, tapping the butt of its lance on the ground.

"Tighter, Artur," she said. Artur complied and the Elfire singed the monster's wings. It growled menacingly, but Lute was unfazed. She spoke again and Artur realized she was repeating an earlier phrase. The fiend only glared, baring its teeth. Lute spoke harshly, a threat in her expression if not her words. It huffed at her, stamping its lance again. Lute seemed a little more than frustrated and flickered her fingers at it, sending a small burst of Fire at it. The Fire passed through the cage and hit the beast squarely in the chest. It shrieked and thrashed, damaging its wings further on the Elfire. This form of torture and questioning continued for a length of time. He wasn't sure how long it had been since they had captured the monster, but he could feel the time passing. Artur took a deep breath, trying to steady his depleting energy. Next Lute sent a larger sphere of Fire. The creature screeched piteously, but the glare never left its eyes.

Lute sighed. "I'm not sure I will receive anymore information." She huffed, narrowing her eyes. She spoke one last time, the threat of death in her tone. The monster only spat at her, baring dozens of little sharp teeth. Lute sighed and waved at Artur. He knew what he meant and released his hold on the magic. It swallowed the fiend which used its last moment in life to glare at both of them. Artur staggered suddenly.

"Artur?" Lute held his arm, steadying him.

He offered a weak smile. "I'm fine, just tired. I have never held magic that long before."

She nodded slowly. "Will you be all right?"

"Of course. Though, I must say, I am not terribly thrilled at the idea of walking back to camp." He replied.

She smiled apologetically. "Sorry about that, but horses would have only interfered with my plan."

"I understand." He sighed. "Come on, Lady Eirika wanted us back at camp my midday. I'm not sure how long that will take, but it would probably be best if we started out now."

"Yes, it would be best. I must admit, I'm not delighted to be telling her of the information I received." Lute said with a sigh as they began to make their way back toward the hills.

Artur looked at her. "And what information would that be? It was obvious the fiend did not want to reveal anything."

"You will find out soon enough." Was all that she said. Artur nodded. "You weren't wounded, were you?" Lute asked, changing the topic. He glanced down at his torn sleeve and saw the faintest of traces of blood.

"Trivial scratches." He answered. "And you? I would not want to explain to Lady Eirika why her best Mage Knight was severely wounded while her Sage came from the battlefield with a simple scratch."

Lute touched a scratch on her temple. "Other than this, I'm fine. I would never forgive myself if I had to trouble Natasha and Moulder at this unfortunate time." They made their way back to camp slowly. Artur refused to acknowledge the supporting hands upon his arm, knowing it would only bring unease and trouble should he mention it.

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**A/N:** Well, I hope you like this update because I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again. Hopefully I'll legally regain access to my computer in the next week. If not, I'll post my progress on my profile. So, check it out now and then.

And please send reviews. I hate whining and begging, but please, for the sake of the story, review. If I don't get at least two reviews, I'll stop it. Why two you might ask? Well, I only get one on a regular basis. I think two is raising the bar, don't you think? I don't think posting this and only getting disappointment in returning is a very fair trade. I write because I love it and I want to know peoples' opinions about my writing. I don't care what you put in the review, just...SOMETHING!


	8. Plans And A Touch of Steel

**A/N: **Hello there! I'm so happy with all the reviews I've gotten! A lot of reviewers gave me excellent advice, which I intend to follow. From now on there will be no begging, whining, or pleading for reviews. There will be a simple request, that's all. I deeply appeciate all of the reviews I have recieved. The majority of them were for me to continue and to turn up the fluff a little. Well, that won't be happening too much in the next couple of chapters. (groans from readers) But I promise it will come in due time. You can't rush romance!

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim anything. It was never mine to claim to begin with. All right?! Nothing is mine! (except the plot!)

**

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****8) Plans**

By the time they reached camp Artur was gray-faced. Lute had steadied him most of the way back. He had stumbled and staggered all the way through the hills. Lute made a reminder to herself to give him parfina tea. She had told him once before about the tea's ability to relax muscles and allow a person to sleep peacefully. That's what Artur needed, a good sleep. Elfire was a level C magic, consuming more energy than Lightning, but less than Bolting. She tried to imagine how taxing it would be to hold any magic for a period of time. In battle, the release of magic was swift, a mere few seconds. Someone not trained to hold magic for a quarter of an hour would be fairly exhausted afterward. But that was spiritual exhaustion. Then again, dragging your tired self over hills would be enough to cause physical exhaustion too.

They stood at the entrance of camp, both looking a bit haggard. For Artur it was simply exhaustion. For Lute it was dread of reporting the news she had.

"You can go rest if you want." Lute said.

Artur shook his head. "No, it would be wrong of me to not be present. Come on, we should not leave Lady Eirika waiting." He walked unsteadily away and Lute followed after him.

Once at the entrance of the princess's tent, Lute called out. "Princess Eirika, we've returned with news." The tent flap was pulled open and Lute saw a meeting had taken place. "Oh, I did not realize you were in discussion. We can come back later."

Eirika smiled from her seat. "Actually, we were waiting for you." She said. "Please, come in." Lute and Artur found two empty seats left for them. The meeting consisted of Eirika, Ephraim, Innes, Duessel, Seth, and Saleh.

"What did you find out?" Ephraim asked. Lute and Artur glanced at one another and he nodded her on.

Lute took a breath. "My plan worked and we drew the attention of a large group of gargoyles. Artur succeeded in capturing a deathgoyle and I proceeded to question it. The beast would not reveal any information easily. Eventually it told me that we would regret our actions. There are more of them, smarter than any other we've come across, I am sure. Think of the fiends as an army. The monsters we destroyed in the War of the Stones were only common foot soldiers. The ones Artur and I fought yesterday and today are like cavaliers, stronger, but still weak compared to the generals."

"Generals?" Innes questioned.

She turned to him. "Yes, think of them as leaders, the most powerful of the creatures. There is one general for each species, at least, that is what I assume. I believe in order to stop this attack, we have to obliterate the generals. But that will be hard considering the generals will be well guarded."

"But this is only in theory, correct?" Seth asked.

"Yes, in theory. It is a plausible one though. How else could these monsters appear if they had not gone into hiding? The message we received was brief, but the bolt was nearly accurate. In fact, our sniper may not even be human as we first thought. A tarvos or a maelduin have the ability to handle bows. A higher ranking maelduin could have made the shot."

"But that does not explain why there is no trail. A maelduin would leave a trail." Duessel pointed out.

"True," Lute admitted. "But that does not mean it wasn't a maelduin. We've no idea what the generals are capable of. They could have powers we've never faced before."

Saleh nodded. "I agree with Lute." Everyone turned to look at him. "We simply thought the sniper was human because the thought of rogue monsters never came to mind. The truth is, there are still fiends about that could have abilities Lute has been talking about. It makes perfect sense. Their master is dead, what else could they possibly do but take revenge? And who better to take it out on than us? I doubt humans are involved at all."

"All right," Seth said. "I see what you mean. The only thing I wonder is why they have waited weeks since the fall of the Demon King to attack."

"More than likely they were gathering all of their forces." Lute replied. "It would make more sense to attack when you had more power behind you should there be a need for it."

Innes frowned. "But…these are the fiends of the Demon King. Surely they could not think like a professional strategist."

Lute narrowed her eyes, feeling great irritation toward him. "Surely I have stressed the fact that these monsters are _smarter_ than the others? I would think you, Innes, would accept that fact and try to plan ahead like a true strategist."

His frowned deepened. "I don't recall knowing anything about rogue monsters until you brought it up, Lute. It appears to me that you knew something more about this than any of us _before _it even happened. Would you care to explain that?"

Lute drew breath to argue, her anger boiling, but Saleh cut in before she could say anything. "Innes, it is true, I admit, that a select few knew about rogues."

"Hah! I knew there was something I didn't like about this! You could be behind the attack!"

Saleh's eyes narrowed. "I was not finished, Innes. But, I would have to say in our defense, no magic user would strike another fellow magic user of the same side. That is beside the point. The reason we know of rogue fiends is because Myrrh warned us before we left Darkling Woods. She told us she had a feeling that this wasn't the end of the Demon King's power. She was right. There are rogue monsters that have been in hiding for such an occasion as Lute has clearly explained before."

"Why did she not tell us?" Ephraim asked, troubled by the thought. "She trusts me. Why did she not tell me at least?"

Saleh's gaze gentled. "Myrrh knew you would worry had she told you. More than likely you would create an army and send them out to exterminate them. That would be an unnecessary action. Looking for trouble is far worse than trouble finding you. We magic users were prepared should it happen. We simply did not think it would happen in such a drastic way."

Ephraim nodded, seeing the wisdom of the decision. Innes, again, broke in. "How did Myrrh know of this?" he demanded.

Lute tried again to speak, but again Saleh beat her to it. "Innes, you should know by now, after all you have been through, that Myrrh has a natural connection to the Woods and the magic it possesses."

Innes grunted and looked away. "Well, if those abominations are as smart as you say they are, shouldn't we move camp? We'd be easy pickings for them."

Ephraim nodded. "Yes, I believe we should press onward to Grado. Knoll would be in his home country and we would be further away from the fiends until we can form a plan of defense." Most nodded in agreement, but Lute shook her head.

"No. Are you forgetting Cormag and Ewan?" she asked.

"We have not forgotten, rest assured, Lute." Eirika said gently. "Cormag should be back some time between this afternoon and tomorrow. We've already sent Ewan to search for Tethys. He went southeast to Jehanna. It will take him longer to return."

"That is precisely what I mean!" Lute exclaimed. "We must wait for them to return. They will be vulnerable to attacks, Ewan in particular. Once Cormag returns, we should try to meet up with Ewan. We _must_ stay together. Separate, the fiends will pick us off one by one."

Ephraim nodded again. "It makes sense. I agree with Lute. I will speak with Natasha and find out if Knoll is mobile. Thank you, Lute, Artur. You've been great help and I'm sure your knowledge will prove to be of further help in the future."

"It's quite obvious you are tired." Eirika said. "You may go rest until we need you again."

Lute nodded gratefully, but still felt as though not everyone was taking in her words and serious considering them. Yes, it all sounded logical and made sense. But they were dealing with the servants of the Demon King. If the creatures get out of hand, this could be much worse than it already is. She looked over at Artur to find him lingering on the edges of consciousness. She prodded him in the arm and he blinked rapidly, straightening quickly.

"Come on," she said quietly, dragging him to his feet. Artur half yawned, looking somewhat apologetic, and staggered out after Lute. She could see he was quite disoriented and took him by the arm. She guided him back to his tent and halted at the entrance. Artur stood there blearily, blinking with a blank look in his eyes.

"Go on, in with you." Lute shooed him into the tent. She bit back a giggle as he flopped onto his bedroll and closed his eyes. "Well, I see you won't be needing the parfina tea after all. Though, I recommend that you take your boots off. Sleeping isn't exactly comfortable with them on."

But he didn't reply. Artur was already asleep. Lute shook her head in amusement and let the tent flap fall back into place.

**

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"Thank you, Cormag, for the warning." Lady L'Arachel said, looking over at him in the conference room. "But, rest assured, the divine light will guard me form the fiends. I need not fear."**

"Gwah ha ha!" Dozla chuckled from his place beside Lady L'Arachel. "You are probably right! But, just to be safe, perhaps we should increase the castle guard?"

"Hmm," the green haired troubadour considered the idea for a moment. She smiled. _She always seemed to smile_, Cormag thought. _Even in the heat of battle_. "Yes! Of course! It is better to be safe than sorry! Good idea, Dozla!"

"Gwah ha ha!" He chuckled heartily again. Cormag fought the urge to grimace. "Any time, Lady L'Arachel!" The Wyvern Knight struggled not to roll his eyes. These two, though their intentions were good, were by far the most obnoxious. They had amazing power, but always smiled and were extremely confident. It often annoyed him, but he put up with it. She was the princess of Rausten and Dozla was her official bodyguard. Cormag was simply a general in the Grado army. Who was he to disapprove their actions?

"Thank you, Cormag, you are dismissed." She said with a wave of her hand.

"A moment more, please, milady." L'Arachel nodded. "Prince Ephraim has requested that Myrrh should be notified—"

"Do not fret. I'll send a messenger north to warn her. I understand the urgency to return to Ephraim's side. You are dismissed." She repeated.

Cormag nodded and left the room, swinging into the saddle of his wyvern. It launched into the air smoothly. He judged his speed and distance, estimating he would arrive at camp in a day or two.

**

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Ewan frowned thoughtfully as he made his way to the stables. Tethys was not here as he had suspected. She had told him before she left the group that she would be in the village of Torin. Torin was celebrating the end of the Demon King's power with festivals. It would be a perfect chance for a dancer and possibly a few mercenaries. The festivities would more than likely last another week. Ewan had been sure that Tethys would be here. But, she was not. He had asked around, giving a description, but no one there knew where she was. The majority of the people had said she had probably moved on. Many said they had seen her, but few knew what had happened to her.**

Ewan feared something horrible might have happened. But he wasn't thinking about the everyday dangers for a dancer. No, men seeking passion didn't seem as dangerous as fiends at the moment. Perhaps Tethys was taken by the monsters. Or possibly murdered by the abominations.

He reached the stables and tacked up the horse he had borrowed from the cavaliers. He paid the hostler for border and rode out of the village, deep in thought.

If Tethys was not in Torin, where was she? Ewan would have to ride on to the next village. Surely she shouldn't have gotten too far. That was probably the case. Tethys didn't like huge crowds like the ones in Torin. Though there were many people, not many stopped to watch and pay. She had probably left to find a better place to dance where more people would be attracted to her talent.

He hadn't gone too far from Torin when a strange sensation came to his mind. He ignored it for a moment, too wrapped up in his thoughts to care. The sensation, which was an instinctual warning, came again a few minutes later. Again, he ignored it. Where would Tethys be now? That was his first concern. He had to find her, warn her, and then return to camp. He heard a sound, but it was too late.

Ewan gasped, his eyes widening, as cold steel slid between his ribs.

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**A/N: **Mwahahahaha! The evil, evil, cliffie!!!!! I'm sorry, but I had to. I just **had** to! No doubt many reviewers will be demanding an update and punishing me with their death glares and throwing sharp objects at me, but I couldn't resist! The temptation was too great! Soooooo... Who thinks Ewan's gonna die? Who thinks he's gonna live? Tell me in a review! 


	9. Worry

**A/N:** And so we come to Chapter Nine! Yay! In this chapter you will meet my OC, who has no name yet. And you'll meet her right away! Don't worry, she's not going to be a Mary Sue or some lame character that messes everything up. Nope. But she does play a very important part! So, pay attention to everything she does, thinks, or says. And you are all welcome to take as many guesses as to what role she plays.

**Disclaimer:** I only own my OC. She's mine! Mwahaha! I finally own something! ...But I don't own Fire Emblem. Dang.

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**9) Worry**

She saw the gargoyle swoop down on its target. The prey didn't even hear it. She knew the undead creature would deliver a killing blow if she did not intervene. So she screeched, a sound so high pitched that only the Undead could hear it. The gargoyle flinched seconds before its strike hit. The target fell from the saddle as his mount reared and bolted. He lied on the ground, motionless. The gargoyle turned and flew over to her. Its beady red eyes stared hard at her. Then it spoke in the guttural yet sleek tongue she knew so well.

"You will regret this." It growled at her. She stared back at it defiantly. The gargoyle flapped away, its lance tip bloodied. She calmly waited until the gargoyle was gone and walked over to the fallen human.

His blood was forming a pool around him. But he was not dead, her screech had saved him; the gargoyle's flinch made the lance waver and misdirected its path. The wound in his side was deep and could turn grievous if not taken care of. She stripped him of his outer robe, leaving him in plainclothes. She took her cloak and wrapped it around him, tying it tightly. She saw with some amusement that his hair was crimson, nearly the same shade of his blood. Picking up his robe, she studied the intricate symbols on the sleeves. His robes identified him as a magic user. She thought sourly of the plans the remaining followers of the Demon King had set. But she shook off the emotion. She left the robe there in the dust, she had no use of it and surely it wouldn't be missed. She carried him on her back and walked to the village.

People stared at her oddly, eyes fixated on either her eyes or the blooming redness on the magic user's side. But she ignored them. She had learned to ignore them over the years. She carried him to the far side of the village where she had rented a room at the inn. The innkeeper watched her warily, but she paid him no heed.

Once in her room, she placed the magic user on the bed and hunted for her supplies. She was not a cleric and therefore could not use staves of healing. Her form of healing was much more crude, but effective. She stripped him of his tunic, leaving him in only his trousers. She bathed the wound and tried to staunch the bleeding. She threaded a needle and proceeded to stitch the wound closed. It was delicate work, but she was skilled enough to perform the task fairly quickly. Once that was completed she bandaged the wound, wrapping and tying it tightly. She placed her supplies on a table next to her rucksack.

Then she pulled her chair over to the window. There was nothing more she could do at the moment. She stared at herself in the window glass's reflection. What she saw was a pale face with prominent cheekbones; thin, arching eyebrows; slanted strange eyes; and long blue-violet hair. She stared at her eyes, her only feature that attracted the most attention. They were bright red, like shining rubies. Strands of silver branched from her pupils. Her eyes were the only thing that connected her to her past. She wished they were a different color. Ruby eyes and blue-violet hair clashed with painful clarity.

Ruby eyes stared back at her, images of horrors past dancing through the gleaming orbs.

**

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**Lute saw Saleh pacing and left her tent, setting the book she had been reading aside. She walked over to him, seeing his troubled expression. He continued to pace, oblivious to her. She stood there a moment longer and spoke when it was clear he wasn't going to. 

"Saleh, is there something wrong?" Lute asked.

"Hm…Yes, there is…" he trailed off, frowning slightly.

"What is wrong?" she asked, taking a step toward him. He appeared to be taking great interest in the ground near his feet, but Lute knew better. His mind was far away in a cloud of thought.

"I-I'm not…sure." His frown deepened. "All I know is something is wrong."

"How do you know?" Lute asked, curious.

Saleh looked up at her, blinking once. "I don't know. I…feel that something is wrong."

"Do you have any idea what it could be?" Lute asked, studying his troubled expression. He was anxious to figure it out, but had no idea where to begin.

"Ewan…" he murmured, thinking aloud. "I think it is Ewan. He must be in trouble."

"Perhaps he is just having difficulties finding Tethys." Lute suggested, struggling not to let her imagination wander to more extreme scenarios. "But I am curious. How do you know it is Ewan?"

Saleh shook his head. "That is just it. I don't know how. I simply know. I suppose it is something like instincts."

Lute raised one brow. "Instincts?" she echoed with a questioning tone.

Saleh nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Ever since Ewan became my pupil, he has been more of a son to me than anything else." He sighed. "Perhaps it is as you say, Lute. Perhaps he is having a difficult time finding his sister. But that would not explain the foreboding feeling I have."

Lute suddenly understood his worries. She knew what he was thinking without him saying another word. And she sympathized him. "You are worried that Ewan might be one of the nine to fall, aren't you?"

He sighed, looking weary. "Perhaps. I would never forgive myself if he was killed. He has no family save his sister. He is my responsibility without his sister here. Should he die…" Saleh shook his head. "No, I cannot think like that." He looked at her once more. "I am sorry to waste your time with my rambling. Just…keep in mind that something is not right." Saleh said gravely and walked away.

Lute stared after him a long moment, thinking over his words. She made her way to Artur's tent. She entered without hesitation, knowing Artur would most likely be sleeping. It had only been a few hours since the meeting concluded, but she woke him anyway. It took several minutes to wake him and he didn't look too pleased to be awake.

"Lute. What is it now?" he grumbled, glaring blearily at her.

"Saleh thinks something is wrong, namely Ewan." She said, settling her hands on her knees.

He stared at her for a moment, leaning on his elbow. "All right, let me get this straight. You woke me up to tell me Saleh is worried?" Lute nodded and Artur groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Lute, there is nothing wrong with being worried. It is completely natural. Simply because Saleh is worried, doesn't mean we have to panic over anything. Now, will you _please_ let me sleep?"

"There's more than that!" Lute exclaimed. "I don't know how to explain, but… Saleh's worries seem…real. I think we should take this seriously. When he was talking with me, I even felt worried too."

Artur frowned, becoming more alert. "Wait, wait. What _exactly_ did he say?"

She could see something was churning in his mind and decided that he was at least considering what she was saying. "He said something is wrong. He said Ewan might be in trouble. He doesn't know for certain, but he has a foreboding feeling. He did mention something about instincts…" Lute told him, watching Artur's thoughtful expression. "I think we should be on guard, just in case something does happen."

Artur nodded. "Yes, Saleh said something similar when Knoll was shot. Do you think he has the power of Premonition?"

"I'm not sure." Lute mused. The thought certainly was an interesting idea. "I thought that type of magic had ceased to exist. I thought all inborn magic died out during the Demon King's first rise to power. The magic we have now is learned. Do you think it is possible?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure either. We don't have enough evidence to even assume. But I agree, we should be ready whether something is to happen or not. We don't know when the fiends behind this will strike next."

"I'm confident is it soon. It has been a few days since Knoll was shot. Our enemy would surely strike again soon." Lute said. "The fiends have to be behind this. It is the only thing that makes sense. They want to avenge the Demon King. There is no other explanation. My only concern is whether there is a new, greater evil behind this."

Artur nodded solemnly. Then he tried to stifle a yawn. Lute smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I should probably let you sleep. I didn't want to wake you, but it was bothering me." She said, standing.

"That's all right. I don't mind. But—" he yawned again. "—the fact is, I _am_ tired. What of you? Did you sleep at all? Or where you too busy reading like always?"

Lute shook her head, ignoring the tease about reading. "No, not too much. I have a bit going on in my head at the moment. If anyone is going to figure out what is going on, I'll be the one to do it."

Artur lied back down on his bedroll with a sigh. "Lute, you don't have to put all this stress on yourself. Let someone share the burden. We're all working for the same cause."

But she shook her head, feeling irritated. "I thought you at least understood!" He frowned and sat up. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lute cut in. "It seems that no one is taking me seriously! Innes doubts me, Ephraim isn't taking any action to help, Saleh is too wrapped up in his own thoughts, and no one else knows as much about those fiends as I do! I spent nearly all my life studying these monsters, and yet, no one trusts me!"

"Lute," Artur stood and walked over to her. He rested a hand on her shoulder. "It's not like that. Ephraim is doing his best to decide what will happen next. Innes only doubts you because he does not understand how these fiends can be smarter than the ones before. Saleh…well, I'm sure he's trying to think of a way to help."

She sighed, feeling tired. "You are probably right. I'm overreacting. It's just…this does not sit right with me at all. To think eight more of us will be marked for death, but not knowing who…" Her voice trailed off as hopelessness rose like an ocean wave within her.

"I know," Artur said softly, his eyes searching her face. "All we can do is stay on our toes and be ready. We have no idea who could be next."

"That's what bothers me." Lute said, staring at the ground. "It could be anyone. We really don't have any evidence as to who is the next victim. We can't even assume Ephraim and Eirika as targets." She was silent a moment. "I hate this. I hate feeling helpless and vulnerable."

Artur squeezed her shoulder gently. "I know how you feel. I can barely handle this any more than you can. Lute," She looked up at him, hearing the unease in his voice. "What if…what if one of us are one of the nine?"

The question stirred feelings of discomfort within her. But she tried to smile. "Well, I don't think either of us would let the other die." She stated as if that solved everything.

Artur's coppery eyes stared at her. They were so full of emotion, so intense, that Lute had to look away. Fiends thirsting for vengeance was more than enough for her. She didn't need this emotional chaos now. He was only confusing her. She stepped away, not knowing what to think.

"Lute," he began, but she shook her head and took another few steps. He frowned in confusion. "Lute? What does that mean?"

"We are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes," he said slowly.

"Well, then, I hardly think we would let the other die." She smiled. "You are my friend, Artur. Do you honestly think I'd let you die? Do you think any friend would let the other die?"

He blinked and when she looked up at him there was a halfhearted smile on his face. "Of course. I wouldn't let you die either. You are my friend too, Lute. We couldn't expect anything less." His lighthearted tone sounded forced. "Enough of this talk. The air is much too serious. Go on, get some rest. I'm sure you'll need it later."

Lute nodded, walking to the entrance of the tent. "You are more than likely right. Will you go back to sleep?" Lute asked him.

Artur wandered his way back to his bedroll and sat down on it. "Just for a little while. I have nothing else of importance to do. And surely the extra rest would not be of harm."

"Very well," Lute grinned. "I never knew how much beauty sleep a Sage needed."

He scowled and lied down with a heavy sigh. "Go. You wound me with your snide remarks. I need my sleep should I ever hope to face your questions again."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic." Lute shot him a grin and left the tent.

**

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**Artur lay awake for quite a time after Lute had left. He rolled onto his side, his stomach, his back. But he could find no relief. Thoughts of Lute and a question that brought painful apprehension kept him awake. He turned on his back for what seemed like the hundredth time and stared at the tarp above him. He had been so sure she would—that she had meant… Artur sighed heavily. This was too confusing. She thought of him merely as a friend. For him, she was so much more. So much more that he couldn't even begin to put into words. He closed his eyes. Perhaps now wasn't the time to let his emotions rule his judgment. It would only complicate things, cloud his decisions and interfere with rational thoughts. Emotional exhaustion eventually overcame him and he remained undecided.

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**A/N: **Hmmm... Who is our new mystery character? Hmmmm... And don't worry, she'll get a name soon so I won't confuse you with 'She' all the time. But...how does she know the Voice??? Is she good or bad?? Dun, dun, da!!

I hope you liked the little bit about Artur. I only wrote that to show that they're relationship isn't totally hopeless! I can guess a lot of you want a step up in the pairing, don't worry it'll come all in good time!

Please review! I was a bit disappointed in all of you when I only recieved two reviews. Grr! Oh well.


	10. Dancing with Lightning

**A/N:** Hey, sorry this is a day late. I meant to update on Saturday, but my mom was installing new anti-virus software. Let's just say it spazzed out on her. It took pretty much the whole day to get it working right. So, I couldn't update yesterday. But I am now! Yay! Oh, look! Double digits! Yay! I'm so excited! Now you will find out what becomes of Ewan and that mystery girl (who finally gets a name!). So, read on and enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Disclaimers are boring. Boring. Booooorrrrrriiiiiinnnggg! I hate disclaimers. Hate 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em. They're boooring! Can you tell that I'm bored?

**

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****10) Dancing With Lightning**

Ewan opened his eyes with great difficulty. He found himself staring at a wooden ceiling and lying atop a bed. He glanced around, seeing he was in an unfamiliar room. He was aware of a pain in his side, thought it was dull. He spied a figure sitting by the window in the far corner of his vision.

"So, you're finally awake." The figure said with a feminine voice. Ewan blinked and tired to get a better look by turning his head. The figure stood and walked over to him, her long blue-violet hair swaying with each step. He was suddenly frozen by her luminescent crimson eyes. His breath stilled in his throat. He wasn't sure if it was from awe, fear, or caution. She stopped and studied him. Ewan's lungs ached and he released the held breath.

"What happened?" he asked hoarsely.

The girl, who couldn't be more than sixteen, turned away to rummage through a cupboard in the room. "I suppose you were attacked. I found you out on the plain a few miles from Torin. You bore a wound in your side and were losing blood. I brought you here." She said calmly, almost monotonously.

He nodded, recalling the pain, the suddenness of it. She returned and handed him a glass vial of milky liquid. He looked up at her questioningly. "What is this?"

"It's a medicine that will stave off pain." The girl replied. "It's an old family concoction, works every time. Go on, take it. It's not poison." He hesitated. All the while she had talked her tone was carefully controlled, neutral. He wasn't too comfortable around her. But his side was paining him and he pulled the cork stopper from the neck of the vial. He downed the medicine in a single swallow. He swallowed thickly for it seemed to stick to his throat. Already he could feel the discomfort fading.

"So," the girl sat in the chair by the window. "Where were you headed?"

"Nowhere in particular. I'm searching for my sister. I thought she was here in Torin, but she isn't. I was planning to ride to the next town..."

"I highly recommend that you rest a day or two before thinking of travel." The girl suggested.

Ewan nodded. "That's probably a good idea. What's your name? Who are you?" The girl simply stared at him. He saw nothing about her expression change, but he felt the cold tension in the room. He wasn't sure why or how, but he was sure he had offended her. He thought she wasn't going to answer him, and was surprised when she did.

"I am the person who found your bleeding body out on the plain. I am the person you tried to help you. Is that not enough?" her tone was still neutral, but he couldn't help but think there was cold steel in it.

He nodded, not wanting to anger her further. "You're right…and thank you for what you did. But…can I at least know your name? It doesn't seem right to call you just 'lady'. I'm Ewan, if you're wondering."

Again the tense silence unnerved him. Again he wondered if she would answer. He waited apprehensively with her bright red eyes upon him. At last, she spoke. "I have no name." she spoke with the same emotionless tone, but it was laced with faint sorrow.

Ewan frowned. "No name? What do people call you?"

The girl turned her eyes away from him. "They call me nothing. No one speaks with me. And I speak with no one. That is how it has been for as long as I can remember."

"I'm…sorry." Ewan apologized, realizing now how he had offended her.

Her ruby eyes flashed as they caught his. "Are you truly? Or do you speak lies as everyone does? Do you pity me? Oh, poor orphan child with no name, how lonely she must be!" the girl stood and looked down upon him with malice. It was the first emotion she had shown since he had woken.

"N-no! I didn't mean it like that!" Ewan exclaimed. "I know what it's like to be orphaned. I'm sorry you had to know too."

Some of the anger faded and was replaced with bitterness. "You, at least, have a sister, do you not? I had no one!"

"It's true. I have a sister. And I _do_ know what it's like, being alone. But, that's beside the point. The point is, what am I to call you? Do you like the name Kayll?"

Her blood-red eyes grew interested and she sat again. "Kayll?" she repeated, as if trying it out. "Why Kayll?"

Ewan attempted a smile. "I had a friend once named Kayll when I still lived on the streets. She—"

"Stop. You mean, you no longer live in the streets? I would have guessed not from the way you dress."

He shook his head. "No, I don't sleep in the gutters. My sister's travels took us to a small village called Caer Pelyn. I met a teacher of magic there named Saleh. I was more interested in learning magic and my sister allowed me to stay and learn under Saleh. Since that time I've joined at the army against the Demon King." He saw something flash in her eyes, but he couldn't identify it. "Anyway, Kayll was a thief I befriended. She stole food for us when the money Tethys earned wasn't enough. But you remind me of her. Would you like to be called Kayll?"

She appeared to consider the name. Eventually, almost reluctantly, she nodded. "Yes, you may call me Kayll."

Ewan felt suddenly weary and nodded slowly. "Okay. How come you don't have a name?"

Her expression revealed nothing and her eyes stared at him intently. Ewan blinked slowly, feeling the pull of sleep. "You should rest. You'll need it if you wish to heal."

"You aren't answering my question." He reminded, trying to muster up a demanding look, but failed miserably.

She half smiled, though it looked like a smirk. "Rest. You are hardly up to demanding information of my personal life and handling the backlashes that come with it. Now, sleep, we will further discuss means of transporting you to family or friends. I am certainly not going to be your nursemaid. I will help you to safety, but I'm not waiting on you hand and foot."

Ewan was surprised. That was the most she had said since he had woken. He shifted slightly to get comfortable and winced as the pain throbbed dully through the medication.

"Lie still, it's best that way. Now, sleep, don't fight it. Just go with it." Ewan felt as though weights were lying on top of his eyelids. The temptation was too great to resist. Ewan shut his eyes and drifted away from reality.

**

* * *

Lute heard the sound of giant flapping wings and threw aside the blanket. She scrambled to find her page marker for the book she had been reading, but found only her favorite sedgel lizard tail. It brought back a memory and she allowed herself to drift back. **

* * *

_She was sitting by the river bank just outside the perimeter of the temple. She was lying on her stomach, her ankles crossed in the air as she read from Lux Aeterna. She'd borrowed it from Artur for leisure reading. She found the topic of the book fascinating as she found everything fascinating. The river bubbled gently next to her and the wind made the weeping willow tree's long, feathery leaves wave. The warm spring breeze ruffled her violet hair and she casually tucked a stubborn strand of indigo behind her ear. Her amethyst eyes scanned the words quickly, alight with contentment. _

"_Lute!" a temple elder called. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes. She glowered for a moment at the smooth grass in front of her. "Lute! We're beginning the advanced lessons should you like to observe!" the elder called yet again. She looked around for the bookmark she had found in the tome, but couldn't find it. She peered over the bank at the river below. Well, if it had fallen in, it was gone now. So, she decided to mark her place with the only thing she had with her. Her lucky sedgel lizard tail. Lute regretfully closed the thick book and stood with it tucked under her arm. _

_Even though she was still a child in their eyes, she considered herself highly educated. She had insisted upon being able to participate in the advanced placement classes. So far, she had managed to convince the elders to allow her to watch the teachings. Though, now she was growing tired of simply observing the class. She wanted to partake in the classes too._

_She walked back through the gates of the temple, her soft leather slippers making a slight slapping sound on the stone. The sunlight streamed in through purposely made windows in the ceiling, so there was no need for candles. As she walked down the hall, she wondered if she should drop off the book at Artur's room. He would probably be looking for it soon to make sure she hadn't damaged it or, worse, lost it. Lute took a detour and hurried quickly down the white marble hall, her Mage robes fluttering behind her. She knocked on Artur's door when she had reached it, but received no response. She opened the door and left the book on the oak desk. Lute hurried away for her class; the teacher was bound to complain if she was late, even if she didn't actually _take_ the course._

_After class, Lute strolled down to Artur's room to find out if she could borrow the book again. She was about to knock on the door when she heard an earsplitting yell. She then heard a thud and a considerable amount of swearing from the young monk inside. Trying to conceal a grin, Lute knocked on the door. She heard more muttering and swearing and then the door opened to reveal a wild-eyed Artur, quite pale from his scare._

_Lute blinked innocently. "Oh, Artur, whatever is the matter? I thought I heard you scream." _

_Frustration quickly registered on his expression. "Lute! It was you, wasn't it?!" Artur accused._

"_What?" She asked, keeping her expression blank and innocent. "What are you talking about?"_

"_I found that…thing…in my book!" Artur pointed at the lizard tail lying quite dejectedly on the floor, the tome only a few feet away, open. "What the h—What in heaven's name is that?!" he demanded, trying to revert from swearing yet again._

_Lute stepped inside and inspected the scene. But first, she gave him a reprimanding look. "I don't think monks are supposed to swear, Artur." He scowled back at her, gesturing again to the limp thing on the floor. She then turned to the tail and laughed. "Why, Artur, it's just a sedgel lizard tail." She said, picking it up and holding it out to him._

_He scowled. "What is it doing in my _book_?!" he demanded again, not finding the situation at all funny._

_Lute shrugged. "I couldn't find a bookmark." With that she picked up the open book and folded it under her arm. "Thank you for letting my borrow it again!" she said as she walked out, pocketing the tail. She paused and peeked into the room again. "And next time, Artur, don't scream like a woman. Honestly, the thing was harmless!" _

_She was already halfway down the hall when he shouted out: "I didn't scream! Particularly not like a woman!" Lute on chuckled to herself and continued down the hall._

* * *

She grinned at the memory and then set it aside. She had more urgent matters at hand. She pulled on her boots, not bothering to shrug into her knight's garb. Besides, she was much more comfortable in plainclothes. Lute scurried to the edge of camp and lurked in between the tents. She smiled gleefully. Lute had been right. Cormag was back. Assembled before him were Ephraim, Eirika, Innes, and Seth. They were talking quietly, but Lute could read lips. The priests at the temple were always whispering about something. 

Eirika spoke first. _Cormag, it's good to see you in good health._

Cormag simply nodded, being the aloof knight that he was. Innes spoke next. _I assume the warnings were delivered? _

_They were. Lady L'Arachel says not to worry and she has sent a messenger north to tell Myrrh._

Ephraim's expression held hints of a frown. _So, you didn't see Myrrh?_

The fair haired knight shook his head. _No, Prince Ephraim. Lady L'Arachel assured me my presence was not needed and I should return to your side._

Eirika nodded. _That is understandable. Rausten isn't that far from Darkling Woods. I'm sure Myrrh will receive the warning soon enough. Is there anything else L'Arachel said?_

_No._

Ephraim spoke next. _What of Ewan? Was there any sight of him?_

_No, I'm afraid not._

_I wonder if his search is successful._ Eirika said.

She observed them a moment more and concluded there was nothing else of importance. Lute turned and went to find Artur. He wasn't in his tent, which surprised her. Lute asked Neimi and Colm in passing, but they hadn't seen him. He wasn't eating near the cook's station and he wasn't waiting at her tent. She frowned. Where could he possibly be?

With a sigh, Lute retrieved the Fire tome she had been reading from her tent. The thick tome was a long read with an even longer title. She'd read it a few times before, but it was always interesting to go back and read it again. She headed off into the plains, intent on getting some practice or perhaps finding a passing monster to torture information out of.

She was a bit surprised as she crested hill to see Artur on the plain below, practicing with various magics. Lute sat and placed her tome bedside her. Artur dodged and struck, the traces of Lightning lingering in the air even after the magic had faded. She watched with something like awe as he wielded his magic so powerfully, so beautifully. The Lightning wasn't just a destructive power. It was a dance, she realized. The way he moved so gracefully, so attuned to the magic, so in sync with its power—it was a dance. On a simple level, it was merely training. But from a different perspective, it was a mesmerizing performance.

Lute hugged one knee to her chest, tucking it under her chin. She watched him pivot, leaving sparks and tremors in the air. His robes, thought tattered and worn—they didn't even match his rank as a Sage—swirled around him. His light brown, coppery eyes were alight with energy. Her original plans of speaking with him fled her mind as she watched. The Lightning he commanded, so dangerous, came within scant inches of his skin as he raised the magic to form a block. Then, in a sudden brilliant, display, the power lashed out like a whip, awful and beautiful.

Lightning. Whenever she thought of him that always came to mind first. She never feared during a thunderstorm. Rather, she felt safe. Perhaps that was a bit foolish. Artur had no real control over natural lightning, only the Lightning he created with his magic and will. Nevertheless, she still felt protected. At the moment, she felt as thought she were witnessing something . . .private, secret. She did feel slightly guilty at the thought of watching him without his knowledge, but her curiosity won her over. She was intrigued with the way the magic flowed with him and vice versa. She saw the dance slowing, the moves faltering, the magic dissipating, and was disappointed. It had been so achingly beautiful. She hadn't wanted it to stop.

Artur braced his hands on his knees for a moment, catching his breath. He shuffled to the base of the hill and lied in the lush grass, panting. Lute moved to stand, hoping to creep away unnoticed, but that apparently caught Artur's attention.

"Hello, Lute!" he called up to her.

Lute froze. She wondered if he suspected what she had been doing. "Hello there, Artur!" she called back.

"Join me for a moment, if you will." He requested, smiling.

Lute picked up her magic tome. "If you insist." She murmured, then, louder: "I didn't know you danced." She walked down the slope toward him.

Artur sat up, a puzzled look on his face. "Dance? I don't." he said. "Why do you say that?" Lute sat bedside him, not daring to meet his copper gaze. "It was simply training practice." He continued.

She nodded. "Yes, I realize that, but . . ." Lute shook her head. "You'll just think it foolish."

"No, tell me. What of my practice did you find interesting enough to call it dancing?" Artur asked, interested.

"Well . . ." She glanced at him. "The way you moved and the way the magic flowed . . . I couldn't help but compare it to dancing." She sighed. "It was beautiful. I've never looked at it that way before."

"So . . . you thought I was dancing?" Artur asked, amused. He chuckled softly. "Dancing? Somehow, I don't exactly see myself dancing."

"Well, it was dancing in a certain sense. It wasn't the dancing one might expect form a court ball nor from a dancer like Tethys. Your dancing was elegant, but so exotic and . . ." she shook her head again. "Well, regardless, I found your training interesting from the perspective of a bystander, though I'm sure Tethys could give you a few pointers."

Artur smirked, shaking his head. "I'm sure she would."

Lute grinned. "Oh, I nearly forgot! Cormag arrived a short time ago."

"Any news?" Artur asked.

Lute shook her head. "No, nothing of interest. Ewan hasn't shown up yet."

"There's no need to worry just yet. Give him a few days before you develop a search party." Artur replied.

"I'm not worrying. Not yet. I was simply stating a common fact." Lute protested. "I wonder how much longer we'll have to wait." She sighed. "We're simply sitting here, asking for an attack."

"Hmm. You're probably right. But, we can do nothing about it. Ephraim is wise in waiting for Ewan. Don't you think it would be awful if you separated and one party was attacked? Besides, we have enough power to defend ourselves from attack." Artur pointed out, lying back in the grass. He locked his hands behind his head of copper curls.

"Well, until Ephraim decides what to do, I'm going fiend hunting. Care to join me?" she asked.

"Well, someone has to keep an eye on you. Who knows what trouble you would get into?" Artur replied.

Lute rolled her eyes at him. "As if I would ever get in serious trouble. Even then I would find a way out. Will you join me or not?"

"As long as I don't have to become the damsel again, then yes, I will join you." Artur replied.

Lute couldn't keep the grin from her face. "Oh, but you were a _wonderful_ damsel!"

Artur scowled. "No playing damsel for me, thank you. Divine light knows I wouldn't be able to handle it again. Once was enough."

"Oh, very well." Lute sighed dramatically. "I'll just have to find someone else to be my damsel."

"Divine light have pity on them." Artur murmured and smiled innocently when Lute shot him an annoyed look. "So . . . who will be you first target?"

Lute grinned and saw the sudden uneasy look in his eyes. She snatched up her Fire tome. "You! I wish to see you dance, Artur! Come on, dance!" She exclaimed, releasing a puff of Fire at his feet.

Artur yelped with surprise and stood quickly, grabbing his Lightning tome. He tossed back a zap of Lightning. Lute flicked a ball of Fire at him. Artur leapt out of the way and sent more Lightning strikes toward her. She jumped back and flung Fire at him again, still grinning. He made a show of avoiding the Fire, twirling away with his arms over his head. Lute laughed, head shaking with amusement.

"Is this what you wanted?" Artur asked before spinning on the spot. His exaggerated movements only made her laugh harder, her body doubling over. Artur came to a stop, facing her. "Do you still think my practices are like dancing?"

"I'm tempted to ask Tethys once she shows up." Lute said, laughing.

Artur made a face. "Please don't. I'd rather spare my dignity the humiliation."

Lute laughed again. Finally she calmed enough to straighten. "Well, I suppose we should head back to camp."

He looked up at her questioningly. "Why? I'm starting to enjoy this break from service."

She began to walk back up the hill. "Come on, Lazybones!" she called back to him. She heard him a moment later, walking behind her. He was grumbling about being a "damsel in distress". Clearly, he didn't plan on being one again. Lute only grinned.

* * *

**A/N: **So, how'd you like this one? What do you think of Kayll? Is she hiding something? Or is she just a bit haughty? Hmm... Questions, questions, questions. All will be answered in due time! Please review! 


	11. Identity

**A/N: **Hey, sorry this is a day late--again. I completely spaced yesterday. Just be thankful it's only a one day delay. Well, thanks for all the reviews! A special shout-out to Raptorxd: THANK YOU SO MUCH!! Anyway, let's move on to the mysterious new character. You'll find out more about her in this one! Oh, and sorry that this is short. It's 2000 words less than the previous one. But anyway... Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **(sigh) Why bother? I don't own.

* * *

**11) Identity**

The girl had watched the magic user sleep peacefully. As he had slept, she had redressed his wounds. Other than that, she sat in the chair next to the window and tried not to think. Years of practice took over and she was stone. She felt nothing and thought nothing. The sun had set three times since she had found they boy, Ewan. She had not slept and she had not eaten nor drank. She was stone.

She saw the sun light up the western horizon and knew it was the fourth day. Hours passed and the sun was directly above them. Midday. She heard the boy stir in his sleep. Her attention was drawn across the room to where he lay.

Kayll.

The name came unbidden to her mind. She was given that name by Ewan. She was . . . uncomfortable with it. That name belonged to someone else, it was not hers to have. And yet, the name seemed to suit her. But the name also had another identity, another set of memories. She shrugged inwardly. It didn't matter. She couldn't be staying around long enough to get used the name.

The boy stirred again and woke. He blinked and looked around the room. His eyes rested upon her own blood-red gaze. "What time is it?" he asked with a voice rough with sleep.

"A short time after midday." She answered. "You should go back to sleep. It is still early in the day."

Ewan scowled. "I've been sleeping too much." He grumbled. He struggled to sit up, hissing in his breath as he did so. One hand hovered protectively over the wound. "So, how much longer until I can move?" he asked.

She shrugged. "A few days perhaps. It all depends on how well you are healing." She answered.

"Kayll," she almost didn't respond. She wasn't used to a name. "Why don't you have a name? Will you tell me today?" he asked.

"No," she answered. Ewan certainly was curious. Too curious for his own good. "You are not ready to handle it."

"When will I be?" He asked, both curious and frustrated.

_Never,_ she wanted to say. "Why must you ask so much of me?" she asked back. "I have rights to my own privacy."

Ewan immediately looked ashamed. "Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking. It's just . . . I've never known a person _not_ to have a name. I'm sorry. I won't ask again."

Something about the way he looked—the lines of pain around his mouth and eyes, and the apologetic look in his red eyes—made her amend her clipped response. "You wish for the answer? Very well. The truth is I do not remember my name, or if I even had one."

She could see the questions form in his mind. "Don't remember? What happened? Did you have amnesia or something? How can you not have a name? What about a nickname?"

She sighed. "I have been called a fair amount of names and none of them were flattering. I suppose, I was not worthy of a name to call my own. Even now I borrow a name from your past."

Ewan looked away. "That's fine. I don't mind. The real Kayll wouldn't mind either. I think she'd be honored to have her name used again after all these years."

She studied him carefully. "Ewan, what happened to Kayll?" she asked cautiously.

Ewan sighed, then winced. "She . . . was executed for theft."

"Oh. I apologize if I was disrespectful toward you friend." She said quietly, though inwardly she didn't care. The girl once called Kayll was no concern of hers. But she must respect the dead. She'd been around them far too much not to know that.

Ewan shrugged one shoulder. "That's okay. You weren't. So . . . do you still want to be called Kayll?"

She tried to smile, but so many years of being like stone turned the attempt into a grimace. She abandoned the venture and hoped he could realize her sincerity. "It is a wonderful name. I believe I would be honored. But, you must understand, I will not take the name as my own. I believe I had a name once, long ago. Unfortunately, the knowledge of any name I once had has left, thought I know not why."

"Oh, I didn't realize . . . It must be awful not knowing your name." Ewan said, his voice dropping in volume.

She smiled wryly. "Trust me, it is. A name defines who you are as a person. A name is an identity, and that gives you purpose. One without an identity is a lost soul."

Ewan looked at her with curiosity. "You make it sound like a death sentence. It is really that bad?"

She looked at him with all seriousness. "It is. It is the worst sentence imaginable, not knowing who you are. Even with memories, you are no one without a name."

"Hmm," Ewan looked down at the bed, now solemn. After a moment he glanced back up. "You've told me about not having a name, but, could you tell me more of yourself?"

She narrowed her blood-red eyes, her blue-violet hair falling into her face as she turned away. "The lack of name is sufficient for now. You shall not know anything else. I do not believe you could handle that knowledge."

A frown flickered across his features. "Why not? Am I somehow _inferior_?" There was a strange bitterness in his voice that made her wonder if he had an issue with something concerning self value.

"No," She said calmly, glancing at him. "I do not think you as inferior. I simply do not want to overburden you with my unfortunate past. Knowledge is lethal."

"Wait," he blinked, a curious expression. "You actually care whether I live or die?"

She smirked at him. "Had I wanted you to die, I'd have left to rot on the plain. As I have said before, knowledge is lethal." She paused. "But then, so is ignorance."

"Does that mean you'll tell me?" he asked eagerly.

"Perhaps, but not now." She replied. His expression flattened. She smirked. "Now, go back to sleep. You won't heal any faster exerting your energy. Rest, and maybe I'll tell you." Ewan glowered at her, but her resolve was stronger than steel. He sighed and sank against the pillow, defiance still bright in his eyes.

She sighed. "Don't make me force you." She warned.

Ewan's brow furrowed. "Force me? How can you force me to sleep?" he asked.

She stood and walked over to the bed. He watched her warily. Her ruby eyes bore into his. "_Sleep._" She commanded, voice laced with a power no one could resist.

"Wha--?" But Ewan's eyes dropped closed and his breath deepened with sleep. She sighed. He was going to ask question when he woke up. And she'd have answers, albeit, maybe not truthful ones. But they would suffice. She sat in her chair again, watching the hours pass by. She couldn't possibly tell the magic user the truth about her. Not only was it unnecessary, but he wouldn't believe it anyway. He might even try to attack her. She didn't need that. What she needed was for Ewan to heal and move on so she could leave. Every passing hour was another chance for them to locate her, to drag her back, to become their tool. A cool touch of fear touched her spine. She couldn't go back, wouldn't go back. She wasn't a living being to them. Just a tool to be used and then thrown away when it wore out. She could only remember her days of servitude, nothing else. And those were memories she didn't want to share with anyone.

**

* * *

It had been days since Ewan had left. Everyone was worried. Eirika and Ephraim had sent out pegasus and wyvern mounted scouts to search for him. But the parties came back with solemn news. Lute's hunts didn't turn up anymore useful information. Artur could see her frustration building. Lute wanted answers and wasn't getting any farther in uncovering the identity of their enemy—or its' targets.**

Tension was running high in camp. No one went anywhere without some form of weapon. Soldiers often stayed in groups. No one knew what exactly was happening, they simply knew it was bad. The cold wind of something ominous loomed over them. The whole camp seemed to hold its breath as they awaited the attack that was sure to come. And they knew that when it did come, it would be awful.

"Artur!"

He blinked slowly and sat up. He suppressed a groan. _This had better not be another hunt_, he thought sourly. He was exhausted. All their hunts ended with completely obliterating the fiends, never quite getting a chance to question it before it dissolved to ash. Saleh had been accompanying them lately and his power helped greatly. But neither of them could convince Lute to calm down with the hunts. Once one was over they'd start immediately on the next. While Artur was exhausted, Lute was unfazed.

Artur looked up and saw his visitor wasn't Lute, but Saleh. The teacher stepped into the tent and sat neatly on the foot of the bedroll. Saleh offered a tired smile which Artur returned wearily.

"Saleh, I wasn't expecting you. I was sure it was Lute calling to—" Artur stopped when he saw Saleh's expression turn grim. "Saleh? Lute isn't—She hasn't been—"

"No, no. Rest easy, Artur. Lute is fine." Saleh interrupted. And Artur did relax his suddenly tense posture.

"Then. . . what is it?" He asked, still a little uneasy.

Saleh turned away, but not before Artur caught the sorrowful look. "A few scouts have—well, they believe that they—" He sighed. "They found Ewan's magic user robes."

"And . . . ?" Artur held his breath, unsure how to take the news.

Saleh looked at him mournfully. "The robes were found out on the plain . . . in a pool of dried blood. I—I fear E—Ewan . . . that he . . ." Saleh took a deep breath to compose himself. "I fear that he may be dead."

* * *

**A/N: **Hmmmm... (allows readers to ponder info they have learned) So, what do you think?? What's her problem?? I know! I know! But I'm not tellin'! Hee hee! And, oh no! Ewan is dead! But he isn't. But he is! But we know he isn't! (sigh) Dramatic irony is confusing.

Well, please review!


	12. The Second Message

**A/N: **Oh, my goodness! This update is TWO days late! That is completely unacceptable! And I am SO sorry. I wasn't able to touch the Internet all weekend long. Saturday was an all day event at Cabela's to celebrate my dad's birthday. (aka the late b-day present.) I swear I ran my heels down to the bone! And then Sunday my mom did taxes all day. Sorry. Again. So, enough with the excuses! Let's get on with the update...which is late...but is now posted...so yay! Another plus: this update is WAY longer than Chapter 11. So...be happy!

**Disclaimer: **Need I tell you how annoying these things are? No, I didn't think so.

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**12) The Second Message**

Countless searches had been conducted but there was no sign of Ewan. A week has passed since the find and fears were slowly becoming real. The danger had been real form the beginning and they knew death was imminent, but now their enemy seemed more real, more dangerous. No one wanted to admit they had lost a great fighter and a good young man to the enemy, but deep within, everyone knew they had lost this battle. Ewan had lost this battle. The camp was silent and respectfully forlorn. Soldiers traveled in groups now and weapons lay close to bedrolls at night. Everyone carried an extra vulnerary and elixir, not wanting to take a chance on anything.

Saleh was probably affected the most. He was quieter than he ever had been. He worked hard, putting extra effort into everything he did, as if it could bring him back. Ewan's bloodstained robes hung outside Saleh's tent like a pennant, grimly reminding everyone of what was at risk.

During the week the army had split into two groups. One group of a large number escorted Knoll to the borders of Grado. His condition had been improving, but neither the prince nor princess of Renais wanted to risk his health. A party of Grado soldiers had taken Knoll from his escort and took him deeper into Grado. The other group had pushed west a few miles and continued searching fruitlessly for Ewan. Now, at the end of that week, they were still awaiting the arrival of the soldiers that had taken Knoll home. The searches were still going out and coming in with nothing more than they had started out with.

**

* * *

Artur tossed restlessly, trying to sleep, but it would not come. The sun had been gone from the sky for a few hours. He wasn't quite so tired as the week before; Lute had reduced the number of hunts greatly, seemingly to come to her senses. But the danger of their situation and the risk they were taking—not so unfamiliar—was still a heavy burden to carry. It was a dark night, the sky too clouded for starshine or moonlight. Artur eventually sat up and groped in the darkness for matches and a candle. Lighting one, nearly burning himself in the process, Artur reached for a forsaken scroll in the corner of the tent.**

He sat crosslegged on top of the bedroll and let his eyes wander over the familiar characters on the worn leather. It was an old map, having been writing on leather and inked with a unreliable dye that faded with age. Artur could barely make out the words, but when he did he saw the Magvel of old and her very differently shape countries and misplaced cities. Artur wasn't studying the old map for research purposes, but simply for something to do that reminded him of his pupil days in the temple. Unrolling the crisp off-white parchment of a modern map, Artur compared the two.

He realized, by judging the shape of the land, the older map had been created in the age of the Demon King's first rising to power. He frowned. But a leather map like this, inked the dyes it was written with, couldn't possibly last the wear and tear of 800 years. Perhaps this was a copy of a map from 800 years ago, preserving the original in more modern versions. Well, as modern as it was in that time.

Comparing the two maps, he saw how much the land had changed. Eight hundred years ago, there hadn't been so many mountains. There had been forests, marshes, and plains. Now there were mountains to the north, and scattered south hills wrinkled the plains and a desert claimed the marshlands. Artur noticed that anyone planning to attack or lay siege may hide in the mountains to the north or in the hills at the heart of Magvel. So the only place their enemy could hide would be in north, near Darkling Woods—an ideal hiding place—or here in the center of Magvel. Considering the lack of serious attacks by the fiends, Artur guessed the generals would be lying in wait on the southwestern edge of Darkling Woods, closer to the mountains.

Artur mused over the new find. It wasn't a huge breakthrough in really finding the source of the fiends attacks, but it was better than not knowing anything about them. They all agreed that the fiends must be out for revenge, though their targets were yet unknown. They also agreed that the monsters had hidden from them since the beginning of the war and were much more powerful. The only questions remaining were: who had resurrected them (for surely with the Demon King gone they lost their source of existence) and the ever-popular, who are their targets?

He shuddered. The thought of a new Necromancer was terrifying. The last Necromancer was a dear friend. In order to defeat the Demon King, Prince Lyon of Grado had been sacrificed.

"Artur?"

He flinched, startled out of his thoughts. Glancing up quickly, he saw it was only Lute. He smiled. "Lute, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing up so late?"

Lute smirked. "I could ask you the same." She spotted the maps he held. "What've you got there?" Sitting on the bedroll beside him, she peered closely at the faded ink. "Interesting. A 151 year old map depicting the lands of Magvel 800 years ago."

"How do you know it's 151 years old?" Artur asked, intrigued.

"The stroke style. But more importantly, 150 years ago they used parchment, not leather." Lute replied as if it were obvious.

"Oh," Artur replied sheepishly.

"What are you doing with an old map?" Lute asked, taking it from him and exaiming in closely. "And a hand-me-down one such as this?"

"I was comparing the land features. I believe the generals are hiding somewhere over here." He said, pointing to the location.

She nodded. "Yes, I believe we all assumed so. The only problem is we don't know how to approach the Woods without being susceptible to an ambush. Ephraim doesn't want to advance any further without a reconnaissance team." She explained.

He sighed. "It seems my genius is daft and you're one step ahead of me."

Lute laughed quietly. "Try three." Artur scowled. "Okay, okay." She quickly sobered. "Do you think Ewan is dead?"

"I don't know, Lute. We don't have enough evidence to say he's dead, but we don't have any evidence to say he's alive either." He replied.

She nodded, eyes cast down. "Everyone think he is. They don't say it, but they believe so. I want to think he's alive somewhere, unable to return to us, but . . ." She shook her head. "I don't know what to think."

He watched her for a moment, her violet hair loose from its usual braids and cascading over her shoulders. She played with a strand of thread on her sleeve cuff absently. "It's been too long." She murmured. "It's been over a week and they haven't made a real attack on us. I'm worried, Artur. I'm worried that they're building their number to attack us all out."

Artur took both of her hands in his. "Don't borrow tomorrow's misery. We'll make it through." He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hands. "Let's make a promise."

Lute looked up at him with soft lavender eyes. "What kind of promise?"

"No matter what, we'll fight out hardest, never giving up, and we'll look to a better future. Okay?" Artur suggested.

She smiled easily. "Artur, I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to die. You know me better than that."

"Do you promise that?" Artur asked with all seriousness.

"I guarantee it." She replied.

Artur smiled softly. "Good." She tugged one hand out of his grasp to cover a yawn. He released her other hand reluctantly. "Now, off with you. It's late and I'm sure you don't want to fall asleep on duty."

Lute nodded and staggered to her feet. "Well, good night, Artur. See you in the morning." She smiled again and left the tent. Artur rolled up the maps carefully and blew out the candle. He crawled back into the bedroll and managed to sleep.

**

* * *

Ewan, bored of listening to the common gossip within the bar, wandered back through town to the room Kayll was staying in at the inn. He was slowly building back his strength and Kayll had allowed him on walks around the village. She, strangely enough, stayed inside. He'd asked her about that on more than one occasion, but she was very tight lipped about her personal life.**

He entered the room and found Kayll exactly where she had been when he had left. And that was hours ago. She didn't take notice of him, preferring to stare out the window at the western sky.

"Hey, Kayll," he greeted, taking the plain brown cloak from his shoulders and draping it over an empty chair. She only nodded in response. "Um, when will I be able to leave? I can walk around the town without any pain."

"Hmm. That's good." She said distractedly. Ewan sighed and walked over to her. Kayll had been growing more and more absentminded over the past week.

"Kayll. You didn't answer my question." Ewan pointed out. "When can I go back to my friends?"

"That wound was near fatal." She pointed out, coming back to reality.

He sighed. "You said yesterday I was healing nicely. And I can walk without any discomfort. When can I leave?"

Kayll's red eyes rested on him for a moment, pondering something over in her mind. "Very well. We'll head out today if you wish it so badly. How far are your friends from here?" she asked, standing.

"A few days on horseback." Ewan replied. He began helping Kayll pack the few items they possessed. "Hey, where are my magic user robes?" He asked when he couldn't find them. He hadn't noticed they were gone until now. How had that happened?

"Oh, I believe I left them out on the plain. I didn't realize how important they were to you." Kayll answered.

Ewan shrugged of the disappointment. "Ah, that's okay. The sleeves were too short anyway and the stitching was fraying. They didn't even match my status."

Kayll shrugged indifferently, slinging their only haversack over her shoulder. "If you say so. C'mon, I suppose I'll have to buy a second horse for you."

Ewan's eyes widened as they left the inn. "Ah, no! That was Sir Kyle's horse! Oh, man! He's not going to be happy. I doubt the knights will let me borrow their horses again."

Kayll looked at him sharply. "Knights? You are with an army band?"

"Yep. . . . That a problem?" he asked tentatively.

"You never mentioned your friends were knights." She replied in an almost accusatory tone.

"Sorry, but you never asked." He said. "Do you have something against knights?"

"No, no." Kayll said hastily. Then she muttered low under her breath, "This changes quite a few factors."

"Huh?"

"Never you mind. C'mon. I've got to buy you a horse." Kayll said as if irritated.

"You got that kind of coin?" Ewan asked, walking with her to the stables.

"Yes, I do." She replied shortly.

"That's quite a bit of coin for a pheasant." He commented.

"And you're too nosy for your own good." Kayll snapped.

"Fine, fine. Don't tell me." Ewan grumbled, knowing it was better to back off now before she lost her cool. He remembered what had happened to the vendor that tried to cheat her out of her money. The vendor wasn't going to be walking anytime soon.

"Good, because I won't." she retorted. Ewan rolled his eyes in exasperation and hurried after her.

**

* * *

Artur leaned back against a tree with a sigh, closing his eyes. Even though the group he was with traveled only a few miles, they had left the worst of the hills and found sprinklings of trees. Being the religious man he was, Artur tried to clear his mind of stressors and pray. He offered up his troubles to the divine light. He was deep in thought for a long time. He wasn't sure how long he sat beneath the tree in his meditative trance. Eventually, he opened his eyes, feeling refreshed. Artur stood and stretched, working out the kinks in his back and getting blood to flow back into his numb legs.**

After a few minutes, Artur hobbled back to camp on tingling legs. He decided to look for Lute. She'd probably have something interesting to do while they waited for Knoll's escort to return. He just hoped it wasn't another monster hunt. He'd had enough hunts to last a lifetime. He wandered through camp, searching for Lute who wasn't to be found. He sighed with exasperation. She was probably out and about, hunting more fiends. He wondered if anything could divert her from her obsession.

Artur wandered out of camp, searching the flatter land with its scattering of trees. He crested one of the few, low hills and finally spotted her a little ways below, seated at the base of a scrawny tree. She was apparently meditating. Artur descended the hill quietly. He was only feet away when something caught his attention. He reacted without thinking, rushing into motion before his mind had fully fathomed the problem.

"Lute!" The cry tore form his throat as he reached out and pulled her from the danger. He clutched her tightly as they fell to the grass together. Upon his back with a startled Lute hugged to his chest, Artur looked to the skies only to find them empty.

'Artur . . . ! Wha . . . ?" Lute gasped out.

He frowned and sat up. Artur didn't release her from his hold and scanned the sky critically. He saw nothing. But . . . .he had been so sure there had been a deathgoyle there, poised and aimed with a short spear. He glanced at the tree where Lute had been relaxing against. There, imbedded in the wood, was the spear.

"Artur . . . ?" she began quizzically, but trailed off as she too spotted the spear. "Gods! Was I . . . ? Did that nearly . . . ? I didn't even . . ." She pressed into his side, clearly shaken. Artur gently stroked her hair, eyes flitting about the sky. He quickly came to a solution, one that only Lute could confirm.

"Lute, I don't think it meant to kill you." Artur said slowly, softly. "I think the deathgoyle only meant to deliver a message."

"By spearing me?!" Lute exclaimed, eyes wide.

"No," he said. "See how far from the base of the tree the spear is? Even it I hadn't pulled you out of the way, you would have been safe. The fiend came to deliver a message. And, I believe, it came to you because you can read the script."

Lute nodded slowly, calming down. "Yes, that makes perfect sense." She looked at him with her lips quirked into a smile. "You protected me even when I wasn't in any danger."

"Yes, well, I didn't know that at the time." Artur said in his defense. "I saw the deathgoyle and simply reacted."

Lute's teasing smile softened. "You would do that for me, danger or no?" She asked quietly, looking down at the hands that held hers.

"I would, there's not doubt in my mind." Artur affirmed. She was silent and he wished he knew what was going through her mind.

Eventually she sighed. "Well, I suppose I should read the message. It might be crucial to figuring out this whole catastrophe." She pulled out of his grasp and walked over to the tree. Artur sat there a moment, feeling . . . something. Disappointment, maybe? For a moment they had shared a level of understanding. For a moment, their hearts both knew something that their minds hadn't yet grasped. Or, in Lute's case, didn't want to acknowledge yet. With an inward sigh, he joined her at the tree.

Lute was tugging on the spear and, after a moment, pulled it from the wood. Her eyes quickly scanned over the intricate symbols on the wooden shaft. "Again it seems our enemy doesn't have a good grasp of the Voice, though I'm sure it's just a ploy to confuse us." She murmured almost to herself. Lute turned the spear over in her hands. The more she read, the wider her lavender eyes became.

"Lute," he said slowly. "What does it say?"

"H-How is this possible?!" Lute exclaimed softly. Her brows furrowed in confusion, but the expression couldn't hide the shock in her eyes.

"Lute . . ." Artur placed a hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what it says."

"'Two stricken. Two lived. Seven more to despair. Next strike is sure.' But how? Ewan is—is . . . he's—"

"Ewan's alive." Artur murmured incredulously.

"But . . . Then, where is he?! We've searched and nothing has turned up!" Lute exclaimed. "They won't be happy, Artur." She looked at him with dark eyes. "They've failed twice now. Their next attack will be swift and brutal. We must be prepared. Has Knoll's escort returned?"

Artur shook his head. "I don't believe so. There is a fair number of them gone. I believe Princess Eirika, Seth, Franz, Joshua, Natasha, and Amelia were part of the escort."

Lute bit her bottom lip. "They're vulnerable to attack even as we speak. The fiends' pattern of attack is lost to me. We can't second guess anything. We must tell Prince Ephraim immediately." She looked up sharply at him. "And you, don't do that again! Next time your valiant efforts could turn into your demise. Even though it turns out I was in no danger, it was still a very stupid thing to do."

"What?!" Artur spluttered. "Next time you could die!" He shook his head, ignoring Lute's stern glare. "No, I don't care what happens to me. I'll not let you die."

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I know, the ending is a bit abrupt, but I felt that it concluded the chapter. If I had continued with Lute's reaction, the chapter would be long and drawn out. Not fun. So, I'll leave you with Artur's thoughts, etc. Oh! Please review! I spent my whole Sunday afternoon baking five dozen cookies. So if you update, you get a cookie! Yay! (teases readers with cookies) Mmm. They smell gooooood! Review and you'll get one! 


	13. Shadows Darken

**A/N: **Hah! This update is actually on time for once! I'm so happy! And maybe my faithful readers are too! In this exciting chapter there will be action! (echo: action!) There will be meddling in personal matters! (echo: meddling!) There will be truth about one of our characters! (echo: truth!) All will NOT be revealed in this incredible chapter, but there will be doubt and suspicion from the readers! Yay! ...Or, no yay?? Hmm... Well, in any case, I think this update will satisfy some and have others trying to put the puzzel pieces together. And I apologize for the incredibly lame chapter title, but hey! I was under pressure, so don't blame me!

**Disclaimer: **I'm not listening! Nah, na-nah, na-nah, NAH! (Oh, boy, am I in denial!)

**13) Shadows Darken**

"How much to do you want to bet we get attacked before we reach the others?" Joshua asked, looking around at the escort.

"I don't think anyone wants to be attacked." Natasha said quietly from beside him.

"Oh, come on, Natasha, can you blame a guy for wanting to win a little something?" he asked with his usual sly smile.

"I haven't forgotten your last gamble." Natasha reminded.

Joshua's eyes sparkled. "Me neither. I think that was my best gamble yet." He remembered back to the time that wasn't that long ago.

**

* * *

**"_Say, do you want to make another bet?" He asked with a grin._

"_Another. . .bet? Right here? In the middle of this battlefield?" She blinked at him in surprise. "What did you intend to bet on this time?"_

_His grin grew to one of roguish charm, full of confidence. "That you're gonna fall for me, sooner or later."_

"_What?!" She burst out, completely bewildered._

_He brushed his fingernails on shirtsleeve and studied them with an indifferent assurance. "I'm betting yes, personally."_

"_Oh . . . This isn't the time for jokes . . . I—I just don't know." She looked around, distressed. She bit her lip and walked off hurriedly._

"_Hey, don't go running off!" He sighed and stared after her wistfully. "I wasn't even joking . . ." He followed her quickly._

_**

* * *

**"__Say, Natasha, want to make a bet?" He asked, determined to win her affection one way or another._

"_On what? If this is another of your little jokes, I—"_

"_Will I make you happy?" He cut in quickly, seeing the distress rise in her cerulean eyes. "That's what we'll bet on. Are you in, or what?" He continued tentatively, desperately hoping she wouldn't run away again._

"_What?" She seemed surprised and no longer angry. He considered that a good thing._

_He spread his hands out before him. "That's everything I've got. I can't up the ante any more. So how about it? Are you in?"_

"_Are you . . . serious?" She asked cautiously, studying his expression critically._

_He took a step forward, his expression sincere. "Look into my eyes, and decide for yourself." _

_She considered his offer, staring deeply into his garnet gaze. ". . .I. . ."_

_He saw her hesitation and spoke hurriedly. "'I serve the people," is that it? Listen, does it make any difference if you serve them in Grado or Renais? You can come with me. It'll work out, you'll see. I'll make it work." He said determinedly, persuading her. He wasn't about to let her go easily._

"_Joshua . . ." She trailed off, biting her lip uneasily._

"_Natasha." He stated, a hint of pleading coloring his voice. She cast her eyes down, deep in thought. When she looked up again, she spoke slowly._

"_I will . . ." He held his breath, hardly daring to breathe should it sway her decision. ". . .accept your wager."_

"_You will?" He asked quickly, hardly believing his ears, but trusting her smile._

"_What I'm betting is my future. My happiness." She replied, resolving most of his disbelief._

"_Natasha . . ." He began, choosing his words carefully. "I can't afford to lose this one." He cautioned._

"_You're right . . . And I hope from the bottom of my heart that you win." She said sincerely, her smile bright, her blue eyes shining._

_His tentativeness, his incredulity, vanished in the light of her eyes. He smiled easily, a quirk in the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry. In a pinch, I never lose." He assured her. Then he considered his answer and amended. "Well, I mean, I lose sometimes. But not this time!"_

_Her smile softened to a tender curve. "At least . . . you won our last bet." She reminded him._

_His brows lowered for a fraction of a second. "Hm? Oh!" He grinned sheepishly. "Oh yeah. . . That you'd fall for me." He paused and she cast her eyes away again, a rose hue coloring her cheeks. "That was easy. This bet, this is going to be a tough one. I'm gonna have to work at it. But knowing that I've won one bet already, at least I've got that."_

_She met his gaze again, her cheeks cooled of the rose flame. Her expression was both somber and hopeful. "This war is terrible . . .but at least it brought us together."_

**

* * *

**Joshua blinked from his reverie. He turned in the saddle. "How about you, Franz? What do you say?" 

The blond cavalier looked over at the swordmaster. "I hope we make it back without injury. Personally, I think gambling is a waste of time and money."

Joshua pulled his hat low over his eyes. "Tch, you don't know what you're missing out on!" He panned his hand in front of him. "Think of the apprehension, the excitement as whether you win or lose all lays in the hands of Lady Luck! Now, come on! What do you say? Heads or tails?" he asked as he flipped his copper in the air.

"Are you two betting on our survival?" Amelia asked incredulously, riding up to them.

Joshua shrugged. "More or less." He replied. "Now, what do you say? Franz?" He persisted, not the one to give up.

Franz sighed. "Oh, fine. Heads, we don't meet battle."

Joshua beamed. "Good! Tails for me then." Joshua tossed the coin a few more times. "Come on, Lady Luck!"

"Battle positions!" Seth bellowed from the front. "Fiends ahead!"

Joshua caught the coin. "Ha! Tails and we meet battle! I win." He said smugly. He looked back at Franz. "You owe me when this is over!"

"What do I owe you?" Franz asked as he balanced his lance.

Joshua leapt from his mount while drawing his Killing Edge. "Let me think about it!" He called as he glimpsed the first wave of monsters.

"Joshua, protect Natasha! Franz, Amelia, take the left! Eirika, stay with me!" Seth called out. They moved into position, braced for battle. Joshua stood ready in front of Natasha.

"With my life, sir." He murmured. He took the coin from his pocket again. He looked back at Natasha with a wild grin. "What say you? Heads or tails?"

"Joshua! Are you really betting on whether or not we make it out alive?!" she exclaimed with wide eyes.

He shrugged. "What? It's an easy win. Of course we'll come away alive."

"Oh! Just—just pay attention! Here they come!" she shouted, pointing to the horde of creatures hurrying their way.

"Suit yourself." Joshua said, unfazed. "Heads, we come away unscathed and tails . . . Well, I'll worry about that later." He flipped the coin and caught it.

"Joshua!"

He didn't get a chance to look at the coin as a mauthe doog charged. He reacted quickly and smoothly. His Killing Edge slid cleanly through the demonic canine, reducing it to dust. Joshua saw a mogall casting its long range dark magic and dashed over to it. He leapt and drove his sword through as he landed. A bonewalker came at him a moment later. He parried a strike and steel clashed with bone. The fiend lunged again and he avoided it with ease. He passed his sword behind him to his other hand, cutting the skeleton down. Joshua turned, seeking out Natasha. He advanced toward her, but was stopped by the vicious lunge of a bael. Being one of the swiftest sword wielders in the entire army, the attack seemed much too slow for him. He nimbly jumped away from the sharp talons.

Joshua knew swords were a poor choice of weapon against the immense spider, therefore he'd have to issue one of his infamous killing stokes. He began what many would call a dance, an intricate pattern of steps and strikes which often left both foe and onlooker dazzled. The dance bought him time to find the weak point in any foe's defense. Once he found the choice point, Joshua struck without mercy. He leapt away as the great hulking body collapsed to the dirt, disintegrating as it went.

He grinned in victory. But his triumph soon vanished, wiped away by a frantic call of his name.

"Joshua!"

He turned and saw the danger too late. The maelduin loosed its arrow, a sneer of twisted triumph on its savage face. Joshua ran and leapt, using every ounce of speed he possessed. He leapt straight into the arrow's path, using his Killing Edge as a shield. He passed out of the path without so much as a scratch. His hear near stopped when he heard Natasha's pained cry. He hadn't deflected the arrow. He'd either been too slow. . . or too fast.

Joshua whipped around and was at her side not a moment later. "Natasha, Natasha! Oh, gods!" The arrow was lodged in her shoulder, only scant inches above her heart, and her blood was staining her habit crimson. He gently cradled her and glanced up. He saw the maelduin charging in for the final blow and grabbed up his sword. Abruptly, Franz's lance came down on the fiend.

"Franz!" Joshua breathed in relief.

"You looked like you needed help." The blond cavalier replied. He glanced at Natasha. "Is she all right?" he asked worriedly.

Joshua looked down at her, sick at heart. "I—I don't know, Franz." He then noticed he still had the coin clenched tight in his grip. Hesitantly, Joshua opened his hand and glanced at the copper nestled innocently in his palm.

Tails.

**

* * *

**Lute and Artur burst into Ephraim's tent. He looked up at them in surprise. "Lute, Artur, what brings you here in such a rush?" then he spied the spear. "What are you doing with that?" 

"It's a message from the fiends." Lute answered quickly.

Ephraim moved over to them. "What does it say?" he asked, interested immediately. Lute read over the characters again hurriedly, adrenaline still rushing through her. Ephraim held up a hand. "Wait, 'two lived'? How is that possible?"

"Ewan is alive!" Lute exclaimed excitedly.

"What?! But we found his robes. They were bloodstained and torn—"

"Doesn't mean anything." Lute cut in. "He could have gotten away. And this proves Ewan's alive. I just fear the next attack."

Artur put a hand on her shoulder. "Lute, take a deep breath and calm down." He murmured in her ear.

Lute blushed slightly. "Sorry," she muttered.

"If Ewan is alive," Ephraim began slowly. "Then where is he? Why haven't the searches come up with anything?"

Lute shook her head. "We don't know. But he _is_ alive."

"Then we'll have to send out another search." Ephraim decided. "It will have to be small. The escort isn't back and you never can tell when the fiends will strike next. And I must speak with Saleh. Artur, go fetch him for me." Artur nodded and left. Ephraim turned to Lure, his face grim. "Lute, tell me your thoughts about this."

"My thoughts? On what exactly?" she asked.

Ephraim waved his hand vaguely. "This whole predicament. What do you think?"

"Well, what I think must be obvious by now. I think. . . they ought to be stopped. I think we may not be able to protect everyone unless we find out who they're targeting. I think if we eliminate the generals, the clean up should he relatively simple. I wonder how the fiends are even able to exist without the Demon King's magic." Lute mused.

"No, no." Ephraim shook his head. "That's not what I mean. Personally, what do you think?"

"Personally?" she repeated quizzically.

"Yes, what do you feel about this?" Ephraim clarified.

"Well, I worry." She replied.

"About what? Or . . . whom?"

"Whom?" she repeated again. Lute swallowed and felt heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered the concern on Artur's face only minutes ago. Concern for _her._ "I worry that . . . that someone dear to me may be harmed." She said uneasily.

"Such as . . . ?" Ephraim pressed, a glimmer of a smile on his face.

Lute blinked a few times. "Why do you want to know so much about me?!" she huffed.

"Who is it, Lute?" Ephraim asked. "I think I may already know."

"Then why do you want me to tell you?!" she exclaimed.

"Because, Lute, I care about my soldiers. I want them to be happy. And I've noticed you're far too involved with this. And I've also noticed a certain person very heartsick over you, thought I don't think you've noticed as much as others have." Ephraim replied calmly with a smile.

"Don't you think love problems are a bit below the duties of a king?" Lute asked, giving him a pointed look that suggested he leave the topic alone.

"Not when it concerns the morale of my soldiers." Ephraim replied.

"Well, I can assure you, there is no problem and you need not meddle. And I mean that in the most polite way possible." Lute said.

Ephraim chuckled as Artur entered with Saleh in tow. "You wished to speak to me, Prince?" Saleh asked. His face was calm and collected like usual, but Lute saw the weariness in his eyes that only loss could create.

"Come on, Artur," she said quietly, taking his hand. "Let's go. I believe they'll want to talk alone." They exited the tent quietly.

**

* * *

**Night had settled in quickly and they had stopped along the road, unable to see much of anything. Ewan was rolling out his bedroll and Kayll was tying the horses to one of the few trees on the plain. She untied her own bedroll from the saddle and spread it out near the fire Ewan had made. Ewan pulled off his last boot and crawled into his bedroll. 

"Aren't you going to eat?" Kayll asked gesturing to the sack of food next to the fire.

"Nah, too tired." He mumbled sleepily.

Kayll withdrew a piece of fruit from the bag and munched on it. "Well, before you fall asleep, answer a few questions for me."

Ewan propped himself up on his elbows. "All right." He muttered with half closed eyes.

"You're with an army?"

"Yup."

"Which one?"

"The Renais Army, what else?"

"The one under Prince Ephraim's command?"

"Tha's th' one." He mumbled, eyes dropping.

"And you're a magic user?"

"Sage."

"Have you fought against the Demon King's forces?"

"Tha's what ya do in an army."

"Have there been any peculiar attacks?"

"Huh? Like . . . rogue fiends?"

"Yes, yes, that." Kayll said eagerly.

"Uh . . . yeah. One, last I knew."

"Just one?" Kayll asked.

"Uh . . . think so. That all?"

Kayll nodded, satisfied. "Yes, now go to sleep." She said. She didn't have to use her power to make him go to sleep. He was promptly unconscious in moments. Kayll stayed awake, watching the flickering fire. So the attack on Ewan wasn't just the Undead being careful. He really was a target. And she had saved him. The Generals would strike against her. They must be furious with her since she had interfered with their revenge. But she hadn't known Ewan was a target.

"Ah, well, I'll just have to join their cause now." She said quietly to herself. "Zinneth will especially hate me now. I'm rather surprised she hasn't attacked me yet. All in due time, I suppose. Of course, I was against their plain in the first place. Hmph. Like that did me any good."

Kayll glared at the fire though its brightness hurt her eyes. Eventually she looked away, the afterimage floating in front of her eyes. She heard the sound of flapping wings and waited, having a fair idea as to what was going to happen. She turned to face the gargoyle crouching behind her, leaning on its lance.

"Zinneth requests audience with you." It growled out in its strange tongue.

"Tell Zinneth that she can rot with the Demon King's body." Kayll snapped back in the Voice.

The gargoyle glared, its beady red eyes menacing. "You will regret this."

"I've already regretted everything I've done for you abominations." She said, crossing her arms.

The winged creature growled and motioned threateningly with its lance. "I don't see why I cannot kill you now."

"Because Zinneth will kill you for doing so." Kayll narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here anyway? Why didn't Zinneth send one of her own to tell me? What will Pedirot think when he find out you're working for a gorgon?"

The gargoyle snorted. "You have been out of the circuit too long. The Clans are working together now. And Pedirot approved it."

"Working together? Is that so?" Kayll scoffed. "I wonder how long that shall last."

"Our union has made us strong. We will take our revenge." It grunted out. "We have already struck three times."

"And how many are dead?" she asked pointedly.

It narrowed its eyes again. "None yet are dead. We would have one victory had you not interfered."

"I did not know the human was a target." Kayll replied.

"You did. The Clans know you stepped in to save its life. Zinneth wants her revenge for your betrayal." It said, its eyes gleaming. "We all want revenge."

Kayll stood with a disapproving frown. "You are not foolish enough to attack me, are you?"

The gargoyle shifted uneasily. "Gorgon magic is a twisted thing. One would be seeking death to face it alone."

She nodded. "Wisely put. You are not as daft as you brethren. What is your rank?"

"Captain of the forces of Pedirot." It replied haughtily.

"Tell me, will Pedirot care if you do not return?" she asked.

It shifted from foot to foot. "It would be all the more reason to kill you." It replied nervously.

"That is true. I suggest you leave before you give me reason to use my 'twisted' gorgon magic." She said pointedly.

It grunted and caught sight of Ewan, asleep. It sniffed the air. "It stinks of magic." The gargoyle growled, gripping its lance tightly.

Kayll stood in front of it, blocking its view of Ewan. "I shall not say it again, leave before I kill you." She said tightly.

It sniffed again. "It stinks of human magic." It glared ar her. "That is the target you saved, is it not?"

"Leave, fiend!" she shouted.

"I should kill it." It grunted, ignoring her.

"And I should kill you! Now _leave!_" she laced the last word with her power, the same power she had used on Ewan.

The fiend smirked at her. "That gorgon magic will not work on me. I am immune to the infamous gorgon magic of Persuasion."

"But it does not mean you are immune to my other powers." She pointed out.

The gargoyle scowled. "True enough. But I am not a fool. I shall give Zinneth your message. She will not be pleased and you will pay." It warned.

"I should like to see her try." Kayll retorted.

It shrugged. "It is no blood on my steel. I shall take my leave now." The gargoyle spread its leathery wings and flapped off. She watched it until it disappeared into the night sky.

Kayll sat down on her bedroll with a sigh. From what Ewan said, it wasn't too far from the army's camp. She made up her mind that night. She would warn Prince Ephraim of his plight. That is, if they believed her or if Zinneth, the gorgon general, didn't get to her first.

* * *

**A/N: **Dun Dun DAAA!!! Hee hee. Okay, be honest with me. You have to admit that sends your little minds churning doesn't it? Will Natasha live? Will Lute finally admit to something such as ...oh, love, perhaps? And, probably the most thought about question: who is Kayll? Well, I hope you all enjoyed. Now, please review and maybe I'll update on time next week too! 


	14. Faith and Doubt

**A/N: **Yay! This update is on time--again! I'm so happy! And I'm sure you are too! In this chapter a few questions will be answered. Yay! I'm so excited, so I'm going to keep this Author's Note short.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **This is so boring. So, I'll let Kayll do the Disclaimer this time. Kayll?

Kayll: I hate disclaimers as I hate everything. Especially annoying, inquisitive little brats. And now I'm going to stare at the readers in hopes of unnerving them.

Gah! Don't scare them away!

Kayll: I won't. Maybe. (stares at readers)

* * *

**14) Faith and Doubt**

Artur finished his rather stale, tasteless breakfast and handed the tray back to the cook. He saw Saleh walking by and decided to join him. Lute was still sleeping, or rather, he hoped so. It has been two days since she showed the spear to Ephraim. Since then, she'd been madly decoding and hunting. She looked tired and he hoped she slept in. Artur hadn't seen much of Saleh; he'd been head of the searches since he was told Ewan was still alive. Meanwhile, Artur had been studying maps and trying to pinpoint the fiends' location with Innes. The prince was a genius strategist, thought slightly egocentric.

"Saleh!" Artur called and hurried up to him.

The teacher of magic turned. "Hello, Artur. Where is Lute? She's usually with you."

"She's sleeping still—I hope." Artur replied. "I must ask you something."

"Ask away."

"First, is there something wrong? You look . . . troubled again. I thought you would be glad Ewan is alive."

"Oh, I am, make no mistake." Saleh said quickly. "But I've got that strange foreboding feeling again of late. And I've no idea why."

"That's the second thing I want to ask you." Artur said. "Where does this feeling come from? Is it a new form of magic? Inborn perhaps?"

Saleh shook his head. "No, I don't have inborn magic. That form of magic died out long ago. And I don't believe it's a new form either. I suppose, with time, skill, and experience, that you form a slight tie to magic."

"So . . . you're saying you have a tie to magic like Myrrh has a tie to Darkling Woods?"

"In a way . . . yes, I believe so." Saleh answered.

"Then, what does it mean when you have that ominous feeling?" Artur asked. He thought it over, realizing something. "Wait . . . you can sense magic?"

"Slightly. But I don't so much as _sense_ it as I am _aware_ of it. Right now, I'm aware of the magic you host. It's a flutter of a feeling, like the lightest brush of wind. That's what it feels like."

"But why the foreboding feeling?" Artur asked as they began walking around camp.

He shook his head. "I've no idea." He paused. "Doesn't it seem odd that whenever I do feel dread someone happens to be injured?"

They walked on the edges of camp and absently watched the soldiers spar . . . or there lack of. Forde was sitting off to the side, engaged in an argument with Kyle. Forde, infamous for his "slacking off" as Kyle put it, held his usual sketchbook. Artur could hear snippets of their squabble.

". . . You should be training!" Kyle exclaimed, being stern and serious as he usually was.

"I did my part in the war!" Forde retorted. "Go impress your pegasus knight if you wish. You don't see _me_ flexing off my muscles for some woman."

"What are you talking about?!" Kyle demanded, flustered, eyes narrowing.

Forde grinned. "I'm certain I have a sketch or two in here you might be interested in seeing."

"What?!" Kyle shouted, grabbing for the book.

Forde sprang to his feet and ducked around a tree, laughing. "Oh, please, Kyle! The sketches are perfectly innocent! No need to exercise your sense of chivalry!"

"Are you saying you've been creeping about, spying on people?!" Kyle shouted, making another grab for the sketchbook.

"Me?! Spying?! Never!" Forde exclaimed as if insulted. Then he smiled a wicked grin. "That's what thieves are for!"

"You paid Colm to spy on my and Syre—" Kyle stopped with a roar and charged after Forde who was already running away, cackling hysterically as he went.

Artur, who hadn't realized he had been listening in until Forde ran off, shook his head. Saleh, who had overheard the argument too, smiled. "It is good to see some can forget the grimness of our situation, if only for a short time." he commented.

Artur turned to him once again. "Don't change the subject." He was silent a moment, the thoughts churning in his mind. "Interesting." He murmured to himself.

"What is?"

"So far, all of the people hurt could use magic." He replied. "Knoll used Dark magic and Ewan used Light and Anima. I wonder if it works when a non-magic user receives injury."

"I don't know. That hasn't happened yet." Saleh said. "But it could. There are seven more targets."

"No," Artur said sadly. "Six now. Look." He pointed to the white and blue flag whipping in the wind above the healer's tent. It signified that someone was in need of immediate healing attention. "Why else would they raise the flag?" Artur whispered.

Saleh said nothing for a moment, grim. Then he spoke with curiosity laden with dread. "Who could it be?"

**

* * *

**Joshua hardly noticed they had reached camp. He was too busy worrying over Natasha. He had held onto her throughout the long, hard ride. No one had suspected the fiends would strike at their cleric. Of course, everyone had been assured of her safety with Joshua guarding her. No one was faster, more agile with the sword than Joshua, the Tempest King. But he hadn't been slow enough. Yes, slow, not fast. After hours of thinking, the swordmaster had finally figured out what had happened. He had summoned all the speed he had possessed and passed in and out of the arrow's path _before_ it had hit Natasha. Due to his incredible speed, a buffet of wind was created that knocked the arrow slightly from its course. Instead of landing its mark within Natasha's heart, it was imbedded into her shoulder. Joshua had been _too_ fast. He was _faster_ than an arrow. Though, he highly doubted he could accomplish that feat twice. He didn't particularly like running through an arrow's path anyway. Joshua hardly noticed they had reached camp. He was too busy worrying over Natasha. He had held onto her throughout the long, hard ride. No one had suspected the fiends would strike at their cleric. Of course, everyone had been assured of her safety with Joshua guarding her. No one was faster, more agile with the sword than Joshua, the Tempest King. But he hadn't been slow enough. Yes, slow, not fast. After hours of thinking, the swordmaster had finally figured out what had happened. He had summoned all the speed he had possessed and passed in and out of the arrow's path it had hit Natasha. Due to his incredible speed, a buffet of wind was created that knocked the arrow slightly from its course. Instead of landing its mark within Natasha's heart, it was imbedded into her shoulder. Joshua had been fast. He was than an arrow. Though, he highly doubted he could accomplish that feat twice. He didn't particularly like running through an arrow's path anyway. 

But it wasn't his _speed_ he felt guilty about. No, it wasn't his timing either. It was the fact he had been distracted from his true objective. He had concentrated on the fiends rather than Natasha. He wandered away from her rather than stay with her and protect her. To put it simply, he had failed. Had he stayed focused, Natasha wouldn't be hurt.

Joshua blinked out of his reverie and looked down at Natasha again. Inadvertently, his gaze fell on the white bandages binding her shoulder. None of them knew too much of healing; they had been too dependant on the sacred staves the cleric carried. Amelia and Eirika had removed the arrow, bound the wound, and staunched the flow of blood. But she needed further healing. So they had raced onward, far into the night. They had stopped to rest only for a few hours before they picked up their hurried pace.

Joshua had stayed by Natasha's side the entire time, refusing to stay away for long if the need arose. The wind swept his long crimson hair across his face, carrying with it the sound of voices. He looked up, dully, uncomprehendingly. He realized slowly that they had reached camp, reached help. He could hear General Seth barking out order to those that welcomed them back. A few dashed off quickly.

"Joshua!" Seth called. "Take Natasha to Moulder!"

The crimson haired swordmaster nodded slightly and urged his horse forward. He held Natasha tighter as his awareness drew out of the fog his mind had settled into. Once at the tent, Joshua found help waiting.

"Pass her here." Cormag said, reaching out to take Natasha. Joshua did so reluctantly, but he knew Cormag had a kind soul beneath his indifferent exterior. He scrambled down from the saddle and turned to take Natasha back, but Cormag had already entered the tent. Joshua hurried in and watched Cormag lay her on a cot. Moulder bared the wound and studied it a moment. Cormag nodded encouragingly at Joshua and ducked out of the tent.

"Joshua, this is an arrow wound, correct?" Moulder asked.

"Yes, it is." He answered, stepping closer. "You can heal her, can't you?"

"Of course!" Moulder replied, grabbing up his healing stave. "The arrow didn't sever any major arteries and there doesn't appear to be too much muscle damage. I'm sure she lost quite a bit of blood. There's no need to look so despairing, Joshua. The healing will be smooth. She'll only need bed rest and very slight movement. Now, step back a little."

He did as he was told and watched anxiously. Moulder closed his eyes and began to chant quietly in an ancient language. A soft aqua glow lit the end of the staff and flowed to Natasha's shoulder. Moulder's free hand glowed gently as he placed a hand directly over the wound. When the glow dimmed and he stepped back, there was no trace of any injury.

Moulder turned to Joshua and smiled. "There, all done. The reknitted muscle will be tender, so make sure she doesn't move too much at first. There is nothing more I can do, healing wise. Take care, Joshua. I'll leave you alone; I should probably check the others." Moulder started to leave, but paused. "You had no vulneraries with you?"

"Very little was left. We used that to staunch the bleeding." Joshua replied, not turning from Natasha.

"Ah," was all Moulder said before leaving.

Joshua crouched beside Natasha and touched her hand. "Natasha, can you hear me? Please wake up. I've done something terrible." He watched her, waiting for her blue eyes to open. He whispered his request a few more times before her eyelids fluttered.

"Joshua . . ." She murmured hazily.

He smiled crookedly. "Hey there. I was wondering when you'd wake." He murmured.

She smiled. "I've been aware for a few minutes. It's taken a little bit to will my eyes open. I'm quite tired."

"Oh. In that case, go to sleep. Moulder said you'd need bed rest."

She shook her head slightly, fair eyebrows inching together. "No, not yet. You said you had done something terrible. What happened, Joshua? I can't remember much at the moment."

"Do you remember the arrow?" he asked quietly, voice tainted by sorrow.

She paused, thinking with a frown on her face. "Yes . . . yes, I do." She glanced at him quickly. "But what terrible thing have you done?"

Joshua grasped her hand. "I bet against our chances of survival. I shouldn't have because if I had lost, I wouldn't be able to pay the due. I nearly lost you, Natasha." He said, shamefaced.

Natasha gave a small smile. "But I am not lost. I had faith in you, Joshua. You saved me, regardless of how you did it."

"But . . . how do you know that? How did you know I saved you?" Joshua asked.

She squeezed his hand. "I wouldn't be here had you not done something. I'll always have faith in you."

**

* * *

**Lute had seen the flag about the same time Artur had. She had been awake for several hours, combing through tomes of legends and lore. She had slept only a few hours, too busy researching any information on the fiends that she could find. She had left her tent for a bite of breakfast when she saw the flag. Immediately she had left her food—not much of a sacrifice—and headed straight to the medical tent. She saw Lady Eirika and General Seth outside looking solemn. Franz and Amelia too were nearby, conversing quietly. She saw Cormag leaving the scene with his usual aloof air, although there was an air of somberness about him. 

"What happened?" Lute asked as she drew near.

Eirika turned to her. "We were attacked on our way back. Natasha was injured, shot in the shoulder."

"Will she recover?" Lute asked, glancing at the entrance flap of the tent.

"We believe so," Seth answered. "But we can't be sure. The enemy was clever, though, to attack a cleric."

"We have to go on the offense." Lute said firmly. "We don't have the best defense and they are trying to pick us off one by one. So far, there have been no deaths, but we can't depend on sheer luck alone."

"Yes," Seth nodded. "I have had similar thoughts of late. I've expressed these concerns to Prince Ephraim. There have been a few meetings, but nothing yet has been firmly decided. I think Ephraim is still waiting for the searches to turn up something."

Eirika nodded. "I feel the same way. I don't want to do anything without finding Ewan first. I think there will be another search soon."

"Good. I believe I'll join this one. I need something to do. Of all the fiends I find and question, none will say anything. Now I have to travel far to find them. My hunting teams have destroyed whatever fiend that has come in a few miles radius of camp." Lute said.

"We appreciate you efforts, Lute." Eirika said sincerely with a smile.

Lute shrugged. "I have nothing else to do and it seems I'm one of the few that know much about the fiends." She looked at the tent again sadly. "I should search out Artur and tell him what has happened. You'll tell me how this turns out?"

Eirika nodded. "Yes, of course. What will you be doing in the meantime?"

"It's still early yet. I'll be going on a hunt. Will you please send word of the search? I will join it if I am notified." Lute explained.

"I will. Luck to you, Lute." Eirika replied.

Luke shook her head. "Luck to Natasha, she needs it more than I."

Eirika simply nodded solemnly as Lute walked away.

**

* * *

**"Artur! There you are! Come, we will hunt!" Lute called. 

Artur turned around and saw Lute enter the training field. A hand axe thudded into the ground at his feet. He flinched and leapt aside. Then he heard Ross groan behind him.

"Come on, Artur! Focus! You've been in the clouds all morning!"

"Sorry Ross! I was . . . distracted." Artur apologized for the hundredth time that morning.

"Aww, you're no good. You and your magic and your thinking! I'll see if my dad'll train with me." Ross muttered. He picked up the hand axe and walked away, looking for Garcia.

Artur turned to Lute who had reached his side. "Hello, there Lute. Did you know someone else was attacked?"

"Yes, I just came from the medical tent." She replied.

"Who was hurt?" Artur asked, glancing over at the tent to see the flag still flying.

"Natasha, shot in the shoulder with an arrow. They were attacked on the way here. The rest of the escort sports minor injuries, but they're fine." Lute reported. "Now, come, we have to recruit one more person and then we'll hunt."

"Again?!" Artur exclaimed. "I went on the last one!"

"Why do you think you go on so many?" Lute asked, suddenly impatient. Artur gave her a quizzical look. "I choose you because I know your competent enough to go this." Lute explained.

"Are the others incompetent, then?"

"No!"

"Then why me?"

"Because . . . I can trust you!"

"And you can't trust anyone else?"

"No, that's not what I mean!" she exclaimed, flustered.

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"I . . . I . . ." she sighed. "This is completely irrelevant. Are you coming or not?"

"No."

"No?" she blinked. "Why not?"

"I won't go because every time I do, I'm never really needed."

Lute furrowed her brows. "What are you talking about? Of course you're needed!"

Artur shook his head. "No, I'm not. The hunting party doesn't need me when they have you."

"Me? What—? No. The party needs you. You're trustworthy, dependable, highly competent. You're powerful and can help anyone out in a pinch. And you can use healing staves!"

Artur gazed at her quietly for a moment. "Who needs me, Lute? The party or you?"

"What—? Artur! I . . . we need you!" She exclaimed again, confused and frustrated.

"Are you sure it's the group that needs me?" he asked, stepping back.

"No—Artur, wait! I need you, okay?" She burst out. "I need you! Is that what you want to hear? I need you more than I've ever needed anything."

"Do you really?" Artur asked, a touch of sorrow in his voice. He looked at her a moment more before walking away. He left Lute staring after him in bewilderment. The words both of them had said slowly sunk in and her expression grew troubled. Soon, she began to doubt all of her motives.

* * *

**A/N: **(sniff) I think I'm going to need a tissue. This is so...bittersweet. Well, at least we know Natasha's going to be okay! That's a relief, isn't it? But...(sniff) It doesn't appear Artur and Lute are having a good time. And it looked like they were in the clear, too! But don't worry, it'll be fine...eventually. 

Please review! Tell me your thoughts or what you think might happen next!


	15. Lost and Found

**A/N: **I don't know about you, but the week seems to have flown by! It's already Saturday! And that means another update! And this one has some juicy information right from the beginning! Perhaps a few more questions will be answered? Hmmm... And watch as the blood boils at the very end. Hee hee. The plot is so thick, I can barely see!

**Disclaimer: **No interesting disclaimer today. I'm feeling lazy. Enjoy!

**15) Lost and Found**

Within the mountains to the northeast, a meeting was beginning. Nestled in a valley between two tall mountains thick with trees, creatures of various size and shape came forth out of the foliage. There were seventeen fiends in total. Both Generals and Captains were at the meeting. They took their respective places in a circle. Each fiend was the very best of their Clans. Though, in some cases, there was a Captain, the alpha of a lesser Clan. The Captains, the weaker brethren, took their places next to their General. They all waited for the most powerful General to speak, a draco zombie named Thalos. The reanimated dragon corpse straightened and glanced around at each General and Captain. This was the best of the best. Draco Zombie, Gorgon, Gwyllgi and Mauthe Doog, Maelduin and Tarvos, Deathgoyle and Gargoyle, Cyclops, Wight and Bonewalker, Elder Bael and Bael, Arch Mogall and Mogall, and Entombed and Revenant. This was the Council of the Undead.

The draco zombie spoke in a rasping voice. "Three times," it said. "Three times we have struck and yet the targeted still live. Why is that?" Not one of them spoke. "It is because we have not fought hard enough! We sacrifice our weakest to keep the humans busy. We must send out an entire Clan should we hope to accomplish what we were awakened for. Which of you shall be the first to go to battle?" Thalos asked, its lifeless eyes scanning the Council.

The entombed General, called Bire, stood. "I shall take the first stand, General Thalos." It wheezed.

The rotted dragon head nodded. "Good. You shall take your Captain with you, Bire. Your Clan are many, the humans shall be outnumbered."

"Yes, General Thalos." It responded as sat down again.

"Bire and his Captain shall attack the humans on the days of the Moon Rising Red. Bire will lead his forces from the northeast and the revenant Captain will come from the southeast. They will drive the humans into an ambush headed by another Clan. Who shall that be?" Thalos stared down the other Generals.

The wight General, Farrik, stood with a rattling of bones. "I shall head the ambush, Thalos." It said with a snapping of its jaw.

Thalos nodded and Farrik sat. "Farrik and his bonewalker Captain will ambush the humans from the west, in the hills at Magvel's Heart. I will allow Bire and Farrik to polish the finer details. Now, if that is all . . .?"

"No, Thalos, that is _not_ all." A voice growled. The deathgoyle General known as Pedirot stood. "Do you remember the human Zinneth had in her care? The one called Nianna?" he asked.

"I do." Came the gravelly response.

"That human, as you recall, had escaped Zinneth's hold as soon as Demon King Fomortiis was imprisoned." Thalos nodded and Pedirot continued. "Since our awakening Nianna has run wild and Zinneth has not yet brought her back under control. My Captain, Seethan, has returned with news that she has interfered and saved the second target." There was a growling of protest among the fiends. Pedirot glanced at Zinneth, but his gaze couldn't pierce her cool demeanor. Pedirot continued. "I believe I speak for all when I say this cannot be allowed and the human must either be put to death or brought under control. Zinneth is the one at fault here and she should clean up this mess."

Thalos turned to Zinneth, who looked at him with hot ruby eyes. "What say you, Zinneth, in your defense?" the draco zombie rasped.

The gorgon stretched to her full height, her lower snake half coiling beneath her. Her scaly hair writhed and each lock ending with a snake head hissed. "I admit," she spoke with a soft yet dangerous voice. "that was my mistake. But her escape was bound to happen. I was distracted with resurrecting you in hope that we may avenge our master. Really you should be thanking me. If King Fomortiis hadn't entrusted me with a portion of his soul, I doubt I'd even be around to resurrect your pathetic corpses. I was Plan B, the fallback. And now, after all I've done for you—" She seared each General and Captain with her hot gaze. "—you dare to turn on me?" She shook her head, her serpent tresses hissing her agitation. "I should take back the power I instilled within each of you for your betrayal."

The fiends squirmed and shifted uneasily. They glanced at one another, debating on the possibility of the threat being carried out. Thalos glanced at them all, hearing their low growls and breathy whispers of speculation. Thalos snorted, breathing out ancient air from his rotted body. It was enough to stop the edgy glances.

Thalos turned to Zinneth placidly. "Have you that power?" he asked calmly without challenge.

"Do you doubt me, Thalos?" the gorgon asked in a dangerous hiss. "You are only Speaker of this Council because I do not wish to burden myself with the responsibilities that come with the title."

"I do not doubt you nor do I challenge you." Thalos said calmly. "I asked a simple question and received venom in turn."

"Oh, but Thalos, that wasn't venom." Zinneth said softly, studying her right hand which ended with a large serpent head. Her left hand was a normal five digit appendage. "You forget, Thalos, that it is we, the gorgons, which supply the poison that tips your weapons of steel. And you all know how devastating that poison is. You've all seen the effects on our foes. And, correct me if I am mistaken, but all of you have seen how truly awful our magic is." She smirked and looked up at the uneasy Council around her. "Well, imagine our magic increased tenfold. That is my power. I was stronger, before I resurrected all of you and the remains of your Clans."

There was a long period of tangible silence. The Generals and Captain knew fully, now, the might of Zinneth. She has been silent about her power until this moment. They had feared her before, but now they were terrified, though they dared not show it.

"I will take care of Nianna. And she will not go unpunished." Zinneth continued. "My gorgons are conducting a search as we speak. Does that satisfy you, Pedirot?"

"She threatened the life of my Captain. She should be put to death. She has roamed free too long." Pedirot growled.

"I assure you, I can and will control her as I have before. She will not escape a second time." Zinneth replied icily.

There was another moment of silence laced with unease. Thalos broke through it with his raspy voice. "Now, if that is all, the meeting is adjourned." The creatures stood from their places in the circle and dispersed into the forest. Zinneth slithered through the foliage and was confronted by Pedirot and his Captain, Seethan.

"Find the human Nianna, Zinneth. She knows both gorgon magic and Dark magic. She is dangerous. We who remain may not have been involved with the war for we were hidden to spare ourselves, but we all know the threat Nianna poses. It cannot be allowed." Pedirot growled with a glare.

"Dear Pedirot, do you doubt me still? Do you forget the power I hold?" she asked with a sickly sweet tone which turned icy. "Do you dare threaten your existence after that speech I was forced to make?"

"No, I forget not." He grumbled in response.

Zinneth rose to her full height, her fiery ruby eyes boring into Pedirot's beady red ones. "Then do _not_ issue orders for me. Do not wander in my way, Pedirot, or it shall be I who threatens the life of your Captain. If the life of your Captain is not enough, then it shall be yours."

"So be it, Zinneth." Pedirot mumbled. He and Seethan stepped aside and Zinneth slithered on by. She crawled through the forest and disappeared into a cave along the mountainside. Within the cave there were several tunnels and cavities. To the left was the hatchery, the dozens of eggs being heated by the many fires and magma rivers flowing within the rock. To the right were the sleeping quarters and the training arenas. Directly ahead, which was the direction Zinneth traveled in, was where a dozen of gorgons were gather around a pool of lake water.

"Have you found Nianna yet?" she asked as she approached.

"No, General," a gorgon answered. "We know not what we are searching for. We have not known Nianna in conscious moments. Perhaps you could scry for her."

Zinneth hissed, her tail lashing. "You are the best gorgons there are and you cannot scry for a single _human_?!"

They bowed their head. "We apologize for our incompetence." One murmured.

Zinneth released an exasperated sigh and pushed past them to the pool. "Allow me to show you all how it is done." She hissed. Closing her eyes, she dipped her hands into the water. Her mind withdrew from the cave and spread across the whole of Magvel. She felt many fiendish energies, few possessing Dark magic. Those would be mogalls, both arch and basic level. Zinneth searched farther, digging deep into the channels of magic she felt. Finally, one lit up in her mind with a red and black haze of gorgon magic. This too had Dark magic running within its being, right alongside the ruby gorgon magic. This was Nianna, the human turned tool for fiends. Zinneth locked onto the aura of the being and sank back into her own body. She opened her eyes and withdrew her hands as an image rose to the surface of the water.

"There. You see? It is not so difficult." Zinneth gazed upon the image in the water. "Interesting. She is in company with the magic user we targeted. Perhaps we can rid ourselves of two nuisances with one blow."

"Are we to kill Nianna, then, General?" another gorgon asked.

"No. She is too valuable a weapon to destroy." Zinneth answered. "I will take control once more. She shan't remember a thing." Zinneth watched the pair galloping on horseback across the plain.

**

* * *

**"How far is the camp?" Kayll asked Ewan, her gaze locked on the surrounding plain. 

He peered at the horizon before them. "Not too much farther. I can't wait to see everyone!"

"Ewan, I'll need to meet with your superior, Prince Ephraim." She stated calmly with an emotionless voice.

Ewan glanced at her, raising one brow. "What for?" he asked curiously.

"In the few travels I've taken, I've collected crucial information your prince should hear." She explained. "It's a matter of life or death."

"What—?"

"This is information only prince should hear." Kayll interjected. "Or until he decides to whom he should reveal this news. Otherwise, I can't tell you and you won't persuade me to tell you." Ewan looked disappointed and Kayll would say no more. But a thought struck Ewan and he voiced it as was natural for him.

"Kayll? Will you be staying with us for long?" he asked. "I mean, will you stay at all?

She kept her eyes trained on the path before him. "I don't mean to stay, but, depending on your prince's reaction, I may or may not linger. And I can't tell you if I'll be willing or not." She said. After a moment she looked at him sidelong. "Why do you ask? You haven't gotten fond of me, I hope."

"Well . . . uh . . . er . . . no, I don't think so. But . . . well, having been in your company for so long, I . . . well, you don't seem to be the friend type, but that's what I consider you." Ewan stammered.

She cast him a discerning glance and then turned back to the horizon as if unfazed and indifferent. "You're right." she said with a bored tone. "I'm not the friend type nor will I ever be. My life is one no one would be proud of. My life has made me who I am and I cannot change. Not even for the sake of friendship." There was a finality in her voice that left no room for questioning.

"Oh . . . I see." Ewan said quietly, trying to hide his disappointment. Honestly, he was rather hurt. The kind of steel she wielded cut deeper than any blade would. Ewan wondered what about her life had been so bad. They rode on in desolate silence. His past hadn't been the happiest, but he didn't let that get to him. He wanted to ask her; the question was on his tongue, but he dared not. He knew it was something she wouldn't talk about. Instead, he bit his tongue and watched the landscape pass by them. After a time, Kayll finally spoke.

"Look, there! Something approaches!" she pointed to the hills looming in the distance. Ewan squinted, unable to make out the figures at which she directed to.

"What is it?" he asked, a hand straying to the Thunder tome in his saddlebag.

"They appear to be riders. Four of them, I believe." Kayll reported.

"Are they friend or foe?" Ewan asked, withdrawing the tome.

Kayll peered harder. "I can't tell, not yet. Whoever they are, they come this way. Prepare yourself for possible attack in any case."

"Do you think it's Prince Ephraim's army?" Ewan asked. "But why would he send only four? Maybe it's a search party! Come on, let's go meet them!" Ewan nudged his horse forward, but Kayll reached over and grabbed the reins.

"No, not yet. Let them come close. When I discover their identity then we may act accordingly." She said. Ewan nodded reluctantly and watched. Small figures in the distance were all that he could see. They had no real definition.

"Hey, how can you see them so well?" Ewan asked. "I can barely make them out at all."

"I simply have good eyesight." She replied noncommittally.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" he asked unhappily.

"You're learning quickly." Kayll said with a smirk, but her gaze never left the horizon.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked. "I can keep a secret."

"This is not a matter of trust." She replied.

"Then what is it?!" he demanded, frustrated and impatient. He couldn't take much more of her secrecy.

She cast him a quick, sharp look. "It is a matter of my privacy. You don't see me trying to pry into your personal life, do you?"

"Well . . . no." he admitted. "But . . . I don't have a problem with my personal life! I'd be happy to tell anyone who asked."

"Well, I'm not like you." Kayll muttered. Then her attention was directed back to the riders who were much closer now. "The riders bear the crest of Renais. It appears, Ewan, that you are correct."

"Well, let's go, then! They're probably looking for me!" he exclaimed excitedly. He nudged his mount into a gallop and took off. Kayll quickly caught up to him and grabbed at the reins again.

"A little caution, please!" she called sternly over.

"But it's Prince Ephraim's army! They'll be missing me! What is there to fear?" he asked puzzledly.

"Yes, they'll be expecting _you_, but not me. How will they react to me?" Kayll asked him. "They may very well attack me. They don't know me nor I them. How am I to know they won't shackle me?"

"They won't do that! You're not an enemy! You'll be welcomed for helping me." Ewan replied. "Why are you so concerned about this?"

"I am not always seen the same way in different eyes." She replied quietly.

Ewan furrowed his brows. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "Can't you say anything plainly?" But Kayll did not answer. He turned his attention back to the riders, trying to forget her odd ways.

**

* * *

**"There are two riders ahead." Colm warned. "I can't say more at this distance." 

Kyle nodded in acknowledgement. They had been searching for hours and nothing had turned up. To be honest, none of them really expected to find anything. "Let's meet them, see if they know anything about Ewan." The party started again with Colm in the lead, followed closely by Kyle.

Lute turned to Saleh who walked beside her. "Do you think it could be Ewan?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. Colm said there were two figures." He reminded her while offering a shrug. But Lute could see the spark of hope in his eyes.

"True, but maybe he has found help." Lute suggested.

"Perhaps," Saleh replied.

"Well, Colm? Who is it?" Kyle demanded as they drew closer.

"They appear to be . . . the one in the lead is . . ." Colm squinted. Then his eyes widened in shock. "It-It's Ewan!"

"What?!" Saleh exclaimed. He hurried to the front and clasped Colm's shoulder. "Are you sure?"

The thief hesitated a moment. "Yeah . . . it's Ewan!" he replied. "Wonder what he's gotten himself into this time."

Without warning Saleh broke out into a run. Lute grinned and spurred his horse. The rest of the party surged forward too. They closed the distance, calling out his name. When they caught up to him there was a look of joy spread over his face. Ewan dismounted from his horse and ran the few remaining feet. Lute watched with a smile as Ewan and Saleh embraced. Beside her, Colm sighed as if exasperated.

Lute gave him a sidelong glance. "What's the matter with you? Aren't you happy we found him?"

"Yeah, of course." Colm said quickly. "I'm just glad Neimi isn't with us."

Lute cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why is that?"

Colm rolled his eyes. "She'd be bawling her eyes out, that's why. Honest, I can't go anywhere without her finding _something_ to cry about." He explained. Then he shrugged. "Ah, but what can I say? I still love her, tears and all."

Lute smiled warmly and then turned her attention back to Ewan. He was greeting Kyle with an enthusiastic smile, seeming to be oblivious to the lecture Saleh was giving him. The Lute spotted another person on horseback. She studied the newcomer with interest. The girl looked about sixteen years of age with long blue-violet hair that dangled in her eyes. Her complexion was pale, as though she hadn't seen the sun in ages. She was thin as a rail and dressed as a pheasant in dirty, plain brown clothing. But Lute wasn't fooled by the fragile appearance. Her arms were thin with wiry muscles and her grip on the reins was sure.

"Who is she, Ewan?" Lute asked with a gesture to the girl.

Ewan turned. "Oh. Everyone, I'd like you to meet Kayll. Kayll, this is Saleh, Lute, Colm, and Kyle. Oh! Um . . . Kyle? I kinda . . . well . . . I lost your horse! But I've got a new one! You can have this one!"

Kyle looked like he was going to say something stern, but reconsidered and sighed. "Okay. You get off the hook this time. I suppose I'll have to give Forde his horse back." He turned to Kayll. "So. How did you meet Ewan?"

Kayll looked over at Kyle with bright red eyes. "I was passing by and noticed him further out on the plain. I brought him to a nearby town and healed him."

"You're a cleric?" Lute asked skeptically. She certainly didn't look like one.

"No, " Kayll turned her ruby gaze on Lute. She suddenly felt as though something was off about her. She didn't know why, but Lute was suddenly wary. "I'm simply a pheasant."

"With coin enough for two horses?" Lute asked with an arched brow.

"What does it matter to you?" Kayll asked coldly with narrowed eyes.

Lute answered with a frown. "It simply seems odd to me that a pheasant, dressed the way you are, has enough coin for horses."

Kayll stared hard at her. Ewan glanced between the two for a moment. He sighed. "Don't bother, Lute. She won't tell you anything. I've tried for over a week and nothing. I think it's pointless."

Lute did not reply. There was an awkward moment of silence, consisting of two heated gazes. One ruby and the other lavender. Kyle cleared his throat. "Well, we should probably return to camp. Prince Ephraim will want to know Ewan is in good health."

Lute didn't take her gaze from Kayll as they turned and traveled back the way they had come. There was something about Kayll that instantly sent up a red flag. The only thing that didn't make Lute entirely against Kayll was the fact that no one else seemed as put off as she was. What was that warning niggling at her mind? It was like a person from another land, who spoke a foreign language, trying to warn her about a major catastrophe heading her way. And all she could do was listen in befuddlement. Lute stared at Kayll's back for the duration of the entire ride. Occasionally, sensing her hard glare, Kayll looked back at her. Her eyes were like red flint, hard and cold. Lute's wariness only increased in level. The miles passed with Ewan talking excitedly about his disappearance, Lute listening with one ear, and Kayll sitting in cold indifference. Lute didn't foresee a smooth road ahead.

* * *

**A/N: **Hee Hee. I'm excited. Aren't you just bursting with shock/excitement/or anything else?? I know I am!! And it only gets better from here!! Soooo. What do **you** think is going to happen? You can always review! (hint, hint) Thanks for reading! 


	16. The Arrogant and Alluring Kayll

A/N: Yes, I do realize today is Friday. But, I won't have time tomorrow to update, so I decided today was as good a day as any. Besides, I've already promised one reviewer that I would. And you can't deny the public, right? I loved writing this chapter. So many conflicting emotions! So much drama! Grab your popcorn and sit down! This is the edited version! A reviewer of mine kindly pointed out a rather embarrassing typo. I've done a quick scan and fixed. If you notice any other mistakes, please tell me!

Disclaimer: Hi, everyone. This is Dyra, my wyvern friend. Say "Hi", Dyra.

(Dyra grumbles disinterestedly.)

Dyra, that's no way to speak to the viewers! Now, say "Hi" properly.

(Another flat grumbling sound.)

(Threateningly) Dyra. Be nice.

(Dyra glowers and sits on Twilight)

GAH! No, Dyra! Bad! Very bad, Dyra!

(Laughing roar/growl) Translation: "Please pay my human no mind and continue with the update. She gets rather difficult to handle sometimes. So I sit on her. Serves her right. Anyway, enjoy!"

**16) The Arrogant and Alluring Kayll**

"How is she faring?" Artur asked.

Joshua looked up as if startled. He blinked at Artur, but then his gaze returned to the sleeping form of Natasha. "She's recovering slowly. She's lost a lot of blood and needs bed rest to regain her strength. Moulder told me there was only muscle damage, thank the gods. But he also said either way and Natasha might've had fatal or permanent damage." His voice was somber and quiet. Joshua looked tired and hunched, as if he bore a great weight.

Artur nodded. "At least she is recovering. It is a relief to know. And indeed, the gods must have been watching over her."

Joshua seemed to become smaller, cowering almost, though not in fear. "But I wasn't." he admitted shamefully.

Artur frowned thoughtfully. "So you believe you are the cause of injury?" he asked, watching Joshua intently.

He didn't answer for a long moment. He grasped Natasha's hand gently. "Yes, I do. If it weren't for my poor focus, Natasha would be fine. I failed in my duty to protect her."

Artur studied him a moment, trying to find the words to say. "Well, you could think of it that way. Or, you could see it as a test."

"Then I've failed it." Joshua replied bitterly, head hung.

He shook his head. "On the contrary, you have passed."

The swordmaster looked up with bewilderment and confusion blazing garishly from his eyes like two beacons. "How is that possible? Natasha has been wounded—nearly killed! If I had set my mind to my task, she would not be here now."

But Artur was shaking his head before Joshua even finished. "That's not what I'm talking about." The swordmaster waited patiently as Artur paused. "The test I speak of isn't one of bravery, nor is it a test of skill. This isn't a test of speed or agility either. It's a test of . . ." His mouth quirked into a smile. "Well . . . of love." He paused again and Joshua's gaze found Natasha's serene face.

He nodded. "Yeah, maybe it is." He grinned crookedly. "I never saw it like that. Despite what has happened we only love and trust each other all the more." The swordmaster cast a grateful glance at Artur. "Thank you, Artur. You remind me of Saleh with all this sagely talk."

Artur smiled. "As long as you don't blame yourself for something you can't change, I'll be happy. Just, well, to be frank, move and be happy she's alive."

"Don't worry, I am." He replied, rubbing his thumb along Natasha's hand.

Artur nodded, a smile on his features, but something within him was envious. Watching the obvious affection Joshua had for Natasha caused a bitter longing to rise in his throat. But he swallowed it down and straightened his mask of contentment. He was about to make an inconspicuous exit when Franz hurried into the medical tent, eyes bright.

"The search party is back!" he informed them. "But there are two more riders with them."

"Two?"

"Yes! People are saying it's Ewan!"

Joshua looked from Franz and Artur to Natasha. "You two go on ahead. I'll find out what's going on eventually." He told them.

Artur and Franz wasted no time hurrying to the edge of camp where nearly everyone was gathered. Artur saw there were indeed two other riders with the search party. Only a short distance away, Artur knew the first of the two riders was Ewan. Ewan! He truly was alive! And from the look of him, in good health if not a little battered. Ewan was calling out to the people gathered before him with a grin. Beside him, Saleh was beaming. Kyle, Colm, and Lute followed them. Artur's eyes skipped over them and rested on the final rider, the second of the two additional. The rider was a young woman who held her head away from them.

Artur moved forward to get a better look and to slake his curiosity. What he saw first was a cascade of blue-violet hair, on of those soft colors amongst a twilit sky. But he still could not see her face. She had a typical woman's body, curvy and seemingly soft. Slender and, frankly, alluring. But Artur did not mistake her wiry, yet strong corded arms as "soft". Her posture was sure if not slightly arrogant. And, even though she was clothed in pheasant garb, Artur could picture her in finer clothing equivalent to that of one with royal blood. Then, as if sensing his studious stare, she looked at him at last.

He was then overwhelmed by the intensity of her hot ruby gaze. Her eyes sent a bolt of something akin to both pain and lightning straight to his stomach. His adrenaline was pumping not a moment later. He felt like a mouse caught in a serpent's glare. Artur stifled a gasp. He was both in awe and filled with fear. The combination of such emotions made his innards churn with painful nausea and yet, euphoric delight. Oh, he was a jumble of emotions. He didn't know what he was feeling. He just knew he felt sick.

Her full lips rose into a smirk and she finally glanced away. Artur was left breathless. The punched-in-the-gut kind of breathless. The muscles in his legs shivered and he wondered if they would hold him up. The sick feeling was still there, coiling nastily in his gut. The pain-like sensation wasn't nearly as strong now that her gaze was off of him, but it lingered. He took deep breaths, hoping it would soothe the unease in his abdomen. It didn't.

He was still trying to calm himself when Lute rode up to him. There was a look of wariness in her features that sent a flicker of concern through him. He had to stop himself from groaning as his body clenched painfully from the overdose of emotion. What was wrong with him?! How could the appearance of two women—one he didn't know and one he knew well—send him into such a state?!

"Artur, there you are. I must talk with you about something important. I—" She stopped and frowned. Artur wondered if she was thinking back to their last conversation. He now felt guilty, another emotion to add to the tumult brewing within him. But he had hurt, he reasoned with himself. It had hurt keeping those secret feelings when it was clear she didn't feel the same. The outburst, however little it was, was unlike him. He had only hinted at the matter, trying to tell Lute, but also trying to keep his affection secret should she deny him outright. And when she had said she needed him, it was something to say to satisfy him. That was when he had felt the bitter sorrow choke his throat and he knew he had to leave. He hoped that Lute wasn't considering where they stood now in each other's eyes.

Her pause had been but a moment and her frown stayed in place. "Artur, are you all right?" She asked. "You look . . . pale."

Artur looked away from her and stroked her horse's velvet nose. "Me? I'm fine. Really. Now, what were you saying?" The lies felt sour on his tongue and worse as shame was added to the turmoil in his stomach. Here she was, concerned about him, admitting that she felt _something_ towards him even if it was only a friend-like concern. And he was _lying_ to her to avoid the situation. Friends didn't lie. If he wasn't the one to love her, then how could he be a friend when he lied to her? Artur continued to stroke the horse's snout as Lute went on.

He felt her calculating stare at the back of his head. "Artur, are you sure you're okay? You don't look to good."

"Do I ever?" Artur asked teasingly. The attempt to steer the conversation away from him failed miserably.

"Really, Artur, be serious. You looked pained not a moment ago." Lute's gaze was palpable as she searched his face.

He tried to grin. "I'm fine, Lute, really. You look like you expect me to keel over any second now."

"I almost do."

Artur cleared his throat. "Now, what did you have to say that is so important?"

She shook her head. "That can wait. She's off to have audience with Prince Ephraim anyhow. She insisted on going alone." Lute scowled. "I don't like it."

His brows furrowed in confusion. "She? Who is 'she'? And why does 'she' need to speak with Lord Ephraim?"

"Oh, right, you don't know. I suppose I'll be telling you anyway." Lute huffed out a breath as if agitated. "Her name is Kayll. We found her with Ewan. Supposedly save him and helped him heal. But there's something . . . off . . . about her, Artur . . ."

He tuned her voice out. Kayll, eh? Unusual, but a pretty name. It suited her, he decided. He tried to recall her face, but could only see her ruby eyes. They were burned into memory, hot and fiery. Artur again felt the same sickening sensation as he remembered their intensity. Divine light above! What was the matter with him? The very memory of her eyes turned him into a pathetic emotion mess! Who was this stranger? He needed to know. As soon as that meeting ended he'd confront her.

". . . Don't you agree, Artur? Artur? Artur!"

Lute's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "What?" he asked dumbly, looking up at her.

A single brow arched. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" she asked patiently.

"Uh . . . y-no. No, I didn't." he admitted shamefully. A friend indeed! He couldn't even pay attention to her for a few minutes!

She frowned and her gaze sharpened. "What is the matter with you Artur?!" He sighed. What indeed? "Are you still hung on the tirade of yours?! I answered your ridiculous question. Then I feared you wouldn't talk with me even after I gave you the correct one!"

"Correct does not always mean right." Artur murmured, surprising himself.

"What?" Lute asked, bewildered. "What does that means?"

He tried to smile and succeeded at only lifting one corner of his mouth. "Nothing." He said simply.

* * *

"I see," Ephraim said solemnly. He was sitting at his desk in his tent with a map of Magvel spread out before him. Honestly, he was glad he was sitting. He wasn't sure if would have been able to continue standing after the shocking news the newcomer, Kayll, had told him. He had so many questions, but he couldn't find one to say. He looked up at Kayll with teal eyes that were void of emotion. He was trying hard not to burst out in a fit of rage, which would be very unbecoming of him. Ephraim wasn't sure why he was angry. Or was he stunned? Perhaps he was subdued with the burden of information he had just shouldered. In any case, he felt the urge to . . . to . . . do something. Instead, he asked one simple question. "And you are absolutely sure?" 

Kayll nodded, her hair moving with the slight motion. "I am, Your Highness."

He pursed his lips in an expression of doubt, confusion, and perhaps wariness. "But how did you receive this information?" he asked, puzzled. "How did you know about the three prior targets?"

Her gaze was cool and her demeanor was collected. He suddenly doubted that she was a peasant. He was undoubtedly sure that she would let nothing slip unless she wished it. "When you live as close to the Woods as I do, sire, one begins to notice things. Peculiar things if you can fathom what I mean."

Yes, definitely not a peasant. She didn't sound like a peasant for one. And, despite her attire, she didn't look like a peasant. "Yes, I can fathom your line of thought if that comes to any surprise." Ephraim replied, somewhat offended. He wasn't sure what to think of this Kayll. She was both helping him and insulting him. What was he to make of that?

She inclined her head in a noble bow. "My apologies, Your Highness, if I came across as arrogant." She said. Arrogant, yes, most definitely.

"You have not answered my second question. How did you know about the targets? We have kept that information very low key. No one outside of the army knows." Ephraim asked, sure that he was going to receive answers that may answer the enigma that was Kayll.

"A better question, Prince Ephraim, would be: How did I know the selected group that was to be marked for death?" She said. It seemed to be self-incrimination, but Ephraim had a feeling that she was trying to flaunt something in his face. He was beginning to dislike her very quickly and he tried to rein in his aversion for her. She _had_ given him a very distinct description of the people targeted. But that still didn't mean he had to like her.

"Very well," he said with patience that sounded worn even to him. "Answer me that if you will."

She smiled, but it felt like a sneer. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I'm not at liberty to discuss that." She said coolly.

Ephraim gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to leap to his feet and shout. He took a deep breath. "You do realize that withholding information makes it very hard for me to trust you. It may make me doubt your information as true. What would happen if I don't believe you?"

He was somewhat surprised to see irritation flicker in her features. "Assuredly, nine people will die. Perhaps countless others if nine deaths do not suit the liking of the fiends. I gave you a _very_ helpful warning, Prince Ephraim. I should hope you take it graciously and _do_ something to stop this. I may seem cold and uncaring to you, but I like slaughter no more than you do."

"I'm still unsure whether I should trust you. Your information may prove null and void from what little information you have given me about the source of this invaluable data." Ephraim challenged.

"This is not a matter of trust, Your Highness." She responded, sounding amazingly bored.

"Oh, isn't it?"

"No," she insisted confidently. "This is a matter of action and preservation. If you act accordingly, you may save nine of your soldier's lives."

Ephraim leaned back in his chair, propping his elbow on the armrest, his chin supported by his hand. "But how can I act if I feel your information is invalid?" he asked, interested as to how she would answer.

"You must, you have no choice." Kayll said with complete self-assurance.

"Don't I?"

"No, you don't. You cannot speculate on how trustworthy I am and dawdle in battle plans. Lives are depending on you, Prince, and your loafing about will hurt them." She spoke to him as if he were a stubborn child learning that up is up and down is down, not any other way around. But what struck him most was her audacity to insult him in such a forward way. "Dawdle"? "Loafing about"? What did she take him to be? A conceited, oblivious, egocentric prince that didn't give a rat's bottom about his people?! He was sure he was going to crack the enamel of his teeth.

"I'm not sure you realize how important to me the lives of my people are." Ephraim began with wire-thin patience. "I would never do something to harm my soldiers nor my people. And, I hope you realize that I am not the only one of royal blood in this camp. There is Prince Innes and Princess Tana of Frelia with me along with my sister Princess Eirika. And if you are so very concerned about the said targets, why haven't you contacted Lady L'Arachel of Rausten? Surely she needs to know as well? Or what of Myrrh, the Great Dragon, who lives among the very fiends you have warned me about?"

Kayll huffed out a breath. "They don't matter in the end. I have already established the feeling that whatever you say usually goes, am I correct? Why should I bother myself with drones if I can speak with the queen bee? And I dearly hope you excuse the slight on your gender. That wasn't intended."

Oh, he was sure it wasn't. No, it wasn't intended at all to insult further the prince of Renais. His eyes narrowed noticeably and there was barely restrained rage in his voice. "Your motives are very vague, Kayll. And you certainly aren't trying to convince me to trust your word. If I didn't know any better, I might have assumed you, a disgruntled peasant, came to ridicule me with hopes of going away unpunished. Lucky for you I am smarter than that. I believe I recognize a soldier when I see one."

"A soldier, Your Highness?" her voice was high-pitched with surprise. "Hardly. No, that I am not. You might consider me a blessing."

"Might being the operative word." Ephraim muttered.

Kayll smiled thinly. "Yes, of course we come back to that matter. Trust. It really is a terrible hurdle for you, isn't it? It would be so much better if you simple accepted this information and did something with it."

He straightened in his chair. "If you were me, Kayll, what would you do with this information as you so dearly want me to?" he asked slyly. He was sure he had her! Her answer would tell him if her alibi as a peasant as foul as her temperament. He gestured to the map before him, indicating that she should point out to him exactly what she wanted him to do.

Kayll seemed to smirk at him before looking down to the map, as if she knew his little game and knew a way out of it. After a few moments, she looked up at him. "I'm afraid I can't tell you, Prince, for a few reasons. I am not you, for one. And I have no military knowledge, for another. And lastly, I have no interest in the arts of war."

Her answer was evasive. It neither defined her as a pheasant nor a soldier. But they were lies, they had to be. His gut told him there was something mistrustful about her. And there was almost nothing he could pin her down with. Almost. "If you have no interests in war, then why do you come to me, with crucial knowledge about a struggle no pheasant knows about, no solid way for me to believe you, and yet still command me to do something?"

"I am a human being, Your Highness. And, as such, I have a sense of compassion for those who are oblivious to the danger looming over them, waiting for the signal to kill them all in one fell swoop. Is it so wrong of me to care about other human beings?" she asked innocently.

"It is wrong of you to have this information if you are a peasant as you say you are. It is wrong of you to withhold the knowledge of your source's identity. It is wrong of you to demand something of me without any clear motives or indication that I should trust you. Now, be gone from my presence. I have no further discussion with you unless you can give me reason to believe you." he said tiredly. He waved a hand at her in a rude, dismissive motion.

Her red eyes became flinty and narrow. "I will leave your presence, Your Highness, for the time being. But this is the dawdling and loafing I have warned you about." She took a step back. "But, if you want a reason, sleep on this: they were the ones to start this whole war, so why should it not be they who will be punished?" With that she turned sharply on her heel and strode out of the tent.

Ephraim leaned his elbows on the table and stared down at the map, his expression troubled. Who was Kayll? And what were her motives to warn him and to give him this knowledge? He scarcely dared to believe what she had told him. Why would it be only those selected nine? Why not him? He, of all people, was truly one to be marked for death. But he was not. Somehow, that thought didn't ease his mind. With a sigh, Ephraim stood and picked up his faithful Siegmund, the Sacred Twin Fire Lance. Then, with movement that spoke of familiarity, he practiced a few drills to alleviate his troubled mind.

* * *

**A/N: **(While wriggling beneath Dyra's rump) Well, this is certainly an interesting development. I know Artur is acting _very_ strange, but there's a good reason for that. A very complicated reason. Don't worry, I'll reveal it eventually. But, oh-ho! What's this?? Ephriam _isn't_ a target?? Hmmm... So who is it?? I know! I know! But you'll have to guess. So please review and place your guess. And then I'll reply with the number you guessed correctly. Good luck! ...Oh, by the way, can someone help me?? Dyra, get off!!! Grr. Help! Please? 


	17. An Expendable Trinket

**A/N: **Hey, everyone. (sigh) I limited on my internet access. So, bear with me if I don't manage to update on time. There are some...difficulties at home. Some of you out there may know, others don't. Anyway, due to these unfortunate circumstances, some of these updates may be late. I'll try to keep that from happening, but I can make no guarantees. Well, I hope you enjoy this on time update and please don't be offended if I can't reply to your review immediately. Thank you.

**Disclaimer: **Hey, this is Raptor, the Criticist. I'm here to do the disclaimer for Twilight. Twilight does not own Fire Emblem 8, The Sacred Stones. Well, she owns the game, but not the rights. Anyone who disagrees with that can deal with my good buddy Oswin from FE7...

**17) An Expendable Trinket**

Kayll was near fuming. She had tried to help this pathetic little band of humans, but of course their prince had to be difficult. She had given him very crucial information. She had practically told him everything the fiends had planned, but he didn't believe her! How was she supposed to help them if no one believed her?! She couldn't tell them everything about her; that information was strictly confidential. All they needed to know were targets. She had given him that information and he practically told her she was a peasant causing trouble for the sake of it! She was expecting something like: "Oh, thank you! Now that we know who is in danger, we can save their lives and put a stop to this! Thank you so much! Without your help we would all perish!" Well, perhaps something not so dramatic, but a little appreciation would be nice!

"Excuse me. Your name is Kayll, right?" a polite, gentle voice asked.

She turned swiftly, her usual mask of indifference of her features. But the sight before her made a small smile curve her lips despite her best efforts. It was the magic user that had caught her attention when she had entered camp. She felt a touch of envy. Everything about him was in perfect comparison. He was made of the lights from a copper sunset. Copper curls adorned his head and reddish brown eyes peered at her with curiosity. The time spent beneath the sun had tanned his skin lightly so he no longer looked like a bookworm hidden behind his texts. He had a gentle air about him that reminded Kayll of priests although he was a magic user. He robes were travel stained and dusty. She could see places were he had tried to repair holes or tears. He was like Ewan in a sense. He wasn't suspicious of her at all, but that might have been Kayll's doing. Ah, well, the more allies she had, the further she could convince them of their danger.

"Yes, I am Kayll. And who are you?" she asked as non-threatening as possible.

"My name is Artur. My companion has told me that you were with Ewan when they found him." He said, but the statement sounded more like a question.

She nodded. "Yes, I was. I found Ewan and helped him on his way." She twisted her face into an expression of friendly curiosity. "And who is your companion?"

"Her name is Lute, lavender hair, violet eyes. She's a mage knight." Artur explained and Kayll knew exactly who he was talking about. _That_ magic user. This Lute had almost made Kayll reconsider her actions. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to lose _this_ one. She could beg Zinneth's pardon and arrange it so Lute was the next target. But that was her past talking. She was trying to move on from that. She had tried for years to escape from them, what would be the point in walking straight back to them?

"Ah, yes. I know who you speak of. She was very . . . wary of me when we met. But perhaps I can . . . _persuade_ her to believe that I'm not the threat she thinks I am." Kayll said, already scheming her next step. _Perhaps this _might_ work out to my advantage._

Artur's brows crinkled into a frown. "Lute thinks you're a threat? I don't know where she would get such an idea like that. Are you sure?"

Kayll smiled thinly. "Yes, I'm quite sure. It might have something to do with the way I dress and talk. She acts like she's never met an educated peasant before."

"Hm. I'll talk with her; tell her you're quite kind." Artur promised with a smile.

Kayll grinned. "Why, thank you. You're very kind yourself. You must have ladies fawning over your gentleman qualities." She purred. _Oh, dark depths, did I really say that?!_

The magic user blushed, his face now matching the shiny copper shade of his hair. "Oh, well, I wouldn't say that . . ." he trailed off, embarrassed.

Kayll laughed quietly. "Modest. I like it. I'm sure you make friends quite easily with all that charm." She commented.

The rose flame cooled a little, but his cheeks were still stained pink. "I do make friends easily. But charm? I'm afraid not. I'm an honest, pious man, pure and simple." He replied.

"Then I think I would be honored to be your friend. What you do think?" she asked. But really, there was no doubt her mind that he wouldn't yes. After their earlier encounter, she had been sure he would come calling for her. And all she'd had to do was give him a simple look. So sometimes the past had its uses after all.

"Of course. I don't see why not." He said with a genuine smile. He looked briefly over at Ephraim's tent, only feet away. "Why did you need to seek audience with Prince Ephraim?"

Her collected calm slipped over her again. It was a familiar mask that she couldn't seem to abandon. "It, apparently, is a trivial matter to your Prince." She said with the barest trace of sourness in her voice. _An ungrateful little wretch, that Prince Ephraim._

Artur frowned again. "That doesn't seem like the prince at all. He cares deeply about his people. He wouldn't turn them away if it mattered."

"Oh, I assure you, it matters much. But I somehow don't think your Prince Ephraim likes me very much. It seems I am to go alone in this life with the world against me." she said rather dramatically. _Hm, perhaps that was a little too much._

"I'm not against you. You at least have one friend and I will support you." he replied with much conviction. Kayll suppressed the urge to lift an eyebrow and smirk. _I can't believe he's going along with me so well. He must be extremely susceptible to my influence. Now, if only the other soldiers are just as easy to "befriend"._

"Oh, _thank_ you, Artur! I'm not sure what I would do without someone to trust amongst all this suspicion." Kayll told him with a smile.

He grinned back. "It's nothing, really." His look turned curious again. "But what were you talking about with Prince Ephraim?"

She smile faded. "I'm sure he will tell you if he deems it worthy of discussion."

"Can't you tell me?"

"I'm afraid not. My information is strictly confidential, meant only for Prince Ephraim's ears. Now he's heard what I had to say and it is his decision what to do with it." Kayll explained.

"Oh." He paused. "Well, I'm sure he will reconsider your words, whatever they may have been. Prince Ephraim isn't the one to turn something down if it's as vital as you say it is. I would talk with him again if he doesn't call you himself after a time. You would do well to take after Lute. After the fiend attacks started again, she's been extremely insistent on action. But there have been so many distractions of late and Prince Ephraim hasn't had time to think too far ahead. I know Lute well enough that she'll soon speak with the prince if not today. I have an idea. I suggest you and Lute speak to Ephraim at once. It will surely make him think of a course of action. While we sit idle here, fiends could be rousing for another attack."

Kayll blinked her surprise. She was amazed at their lack of preparation. Did that mean all of those targeted are alive now due to sheer luck? And no one else had been killed? What kind of army was this?! She voiced her concerns, albeit in a calmer approach. "Aren't you concerned that Prince Ephraim isn't doing everything to protect his soldiers? This army seems ill prepared for a fiend attack."

Artur shrugged slightly as if the thought hadn't really occurred to him. "Lute does daily circuits on the borders of camp. She and a selected few called her hunting party cleanse the surrounding area of all putrefaction. And—oh my." He blinked and looked at her as if startled. "Did you have any prior knowledge of . . . er . . . fiends?"

_Oh, this is too good._ Kayll nearly laughed_. Any_ _prior knowledge? I have loads of it!_ _I could write a book if I had wanted to._ But her mask didn't allow her the privilege of laughing. But, how was she supposed to pull off her educated peasant guise? So she decided to stick with her I've-seen-peculiar-things excuse.

"Yes, I know of the abominations you speak of, though I'm not proud to say so." Kayll said with a sigh. "I live on a secluded farm near Darkling Woods. I've seen unnatural shadows lurking in the trees. Those . . . _monsters_. . . razed my farm and I managed to escape. I sought out the infamous Renais army, thinking Prince Ephraim would help me. But, considering the way our conversation went, I'm not sure if he will help at all."

"Well, like I said, we're trying to solve the matter as quickly as possible. But, there have been so many setbacks. . ." Artur said, growing somber. "I'm sorry about your farm. Did you have any family?"

Kayll let a wistful sigh escape her and, for a moment, she wondered if that wasn't an act. "No, I didn't—don't. I'm an orphan, unfortunately."

Artur's features formed into an expression of remorse. "Oh, I'm so sorry. You needn't tell me more. I was curious, but it's not my place to ask. I'm sorry if I brought about any . . . unwanted memories."

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you for your generosity. I assure you, I'm not at all upset by your comment. And I've had my share of curiosity from another." _I'm sure you know him. His name is Ewan Curious Pest from Caer Pelyn._

He grinned, a bright effect that complemented his gentle features. "Ah, you would mean Ewan. Yes, he is bit a too curious for his own good, but his enthusiasm is infectious." Artur suddenly turned concerned. "I hope he didn't cause you too much trouble."

She waved a hand at him. "Oh, no. Not at all." _Yes._ "I understand his willingness to fathom every question of life, but it grew rather . . . tedious, shall we say." _You have no idea how many times I humored the idea of turning around and letting the fiends have at you as they will._

He chuckled. "Yes, well, Ewan has always been like that. I'm afraid it's one of the things he knows best." He cast a quick glance around. "Ah, there's Lute. I believe she might be going on a hunt. Are you experienced in battle? Perhaps we can join her."

Kayll caught sight of the lavender haired magic user and struggled to keep her face smooth, resisting the frown that begged to crease to expression. "I can hold my own in battle. Gods know I've faced enough of those fiends to become skilled enough."

Artur offered her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that. Truly, I am. No one should have to face these abominations. Especially not common people wishing for a simple life."

"I'm fine, really."

He nodded and they walked over to Lute, who either didn't notice their approach or ignored them outright. Kayll would rather take on a draco zombie single-handedly than speak with this mage knight. But she had to keep up her semblance as a peasant willing to help them. If her identity as the despicable creature she was leaked out, everyone would turn on her in an instant. Soon enough Lute acknowledged their presence with a visible frown—mainly directed at Kayll. But Artur seemed oblivious to the heated gazes they exchanged. Perhaps that was for the best.

"Hello Lute, you've met Kayll, right?" Artur asked as they drew near.

"Yes. I have." She responded with evident distaste.

Artur, again, was oblivious. "We were just talking about fiends when I saw you. Are you going on a hunt?" he asked, glancing at the tome she held in her hands.

"Why should you like to know? You won't go anyway. 'I'm not needed', isn't that what you said?" Lute asked bitterly.

Artur's brow wrinkled. "What? Well, yes, I'm not really needed, but—Lute, what's wrong?"

Her violet eyes widened. "'What's wrong'? 'What's wrong'? Well, goodness, Artur, _you_ tell me what's wrong! You seem to know what's best for me!" she exclaimed, a little more than angry.

"Lute, why are you acting like this?" he asked, stepping towards her with a painfully confused expression on his face. Kayll could only watch in silent amusement. It's not like she wanted to intervene, that would be worse, but watching this drama unfold was both annoyingly petty and entertaining at the same time.

"Why? Why?!" Her violet eyes snapped with fury. "Artur, _I_ should be the one asking the questions! Such as, why did you completely brush me off earlier today? Or, why are you acting like nothing happened? You left me in a baffled mess! I didn't know what was going on! Did I do something wrong? Did I overlook something, apparently, vitally important to you? It was so unlike you, I had no clue as to how to react. Who do you think you are, playing with me like that?!"

Artur, obviously overcome, took several steps back, hands up in a defensive gesture. "Lute, I don't know what's gotten into you of late, but—"

"Into me?!" she screeched. "What's gotten into me?! What's gotten into _you_, Artur?! I feel like I don't know you anymore with the way you continue to act like you have multiple personalities! I thought I was starting to understand you; that you may have been the one 'heartsick' over me as Prince Ephraim so said. But now? Now, I'm starting to believe I don't know you."

"Lute—?"

She pursed her lips, shook her head a fraction of an inch, and stalked off. Artur stared after her, dumbstruck. Kayll watched Lute disappear around a tent and then turned her attention back to the magic user before her. She glanced at the sky casually, wondering if a freak bolt of lightning had struck him. But there was no sign of a storm. At least, not one in the sky.

"Is she always like that?" Kayll asked lightly.

Slowly, Artur shook his head. He turned to look at her. "I feel like something has happened to me to make Lute act so disdainfully towards me. And I have no idea what that something might be."

Kayll shrugged. "Hormones?"

Artur chuckled. "Kayll, I hardly think we're adolescents anymore." He grew serious again. "No, there's something bothering Lute and I have a feeling I caused it. I just—I can't remember what I did. She said something about me being 'heartsick' over her. I wonder where she got that idea from. And how does Prince Ephraim tie into it?" He frowned. After a moment he shrugged. "Ah, well, I'll ponder on that later. I really wouldn't want to put a damper on your impression of us."

Kayll tried to smile. _Hellfangs! He's catching on. I guess I didn't Persuade him as well as I thought I had. _"Don't worry. You more than make up for it." She assured him, catching his eye. _Friend. Ally. Loyalty. Trust. Now, obey._

His eyes became vacant for a second, as if he were growing drowsy. He quickly blinked and shook his head, smiling. "Well, come on. I'll show you around. And, don't worry about Prince Ephraim or Lute. They'll come around eventually. They just have to get to know you."

_Well, they won't be finding out much._ Kayll thought. _Not even you know what's happening to you._

**

* * *

**Lute was seething with rage. 

_How dare he?! Why would he do that? To me, of all people! I though—light above, I don't know _what_ to think! And her! Ooh, if only she weren't a defenseless peasant! I'd show her a thing or two—with my Bolting!_ She clenched and unclenched her hands repeatedly, trying to resist the temptation of going back there and—and—and doing _something!_ She was too enraged to even form a proper threat. Her feet walked automatically while her mind was busy twisting itself up in knots with plots of retaliation.

"That cheeky, contemptuous, charlatan! Who does she think she's fooling?! She's up to something, I know it!" Lute muttered to herself, ignoring the looks the received from Ross and Franz. "And I'll find out too!"

Ross's eyes were widened to an impossible size. He leaned over to Franz and whispered in his ear. "Uh-oh, Franz. Lute's muttering to herself again."

Franz had a peculiar expression on his face that suggested he was thinking insanity might be contagious. "Maybe we should . . . er . . . back away slowly."

Ross nodded quickly. "Right. Good idea."

"She won't fool me!" Lute exclaimed with a wild eyed expression

Ross gulped. "Heck, forget about walking! She's stark raving mad! Run for the sake of your sanity!" With that Ross and Franz ran, not particularly caring if someone thought them weak. Insanity was a dangerous thing to mess with. And they didn't foresee losing their minds in their near future.

Lute, though, was completely oblivious to their flight. She was far too busy muttering to herself. "But it doesn't make sense. What could she possibly gain from her—her—." Lute stopped and frowned. "What exactly is she doing anyway? Obviously something as rotten as her cover story. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed her shady façade. But who—?"

Ewan.

"Of course!" she smiled and turned about, searching out someone who might know where the pesky magic user would be. She turned a few corners, searching throughout the camp. She eventually made her way to the practice field. Her eyes scanned over the soldiers, searching. Two cavaliers were jousting, lances balanced and out before them, shields on their arms. One wore red armor and the other wore armor the color of evergreen trees far to the north.

"Kyle!" she called, racing over.

The deep green cavalier turned his mount sharply. The horse squealed at the unexpected movement and half reared, snorting in agitation. The red armored cavalier stopped quickly, his mount's hindquarters dipping slightly to brace itself into a stop. Kyle transferred his lance to its sheath on the saddle and ripped off his helmet, a look of stern anxiety on his face. He was prepared for a fight should there be need of one.

"Yes?!"

"Do you know where Ewan is?" Lute asked as she drew near.

Kyle's expression settled into a slightly irritated one. Forde too lifted his helmet from his head, a scowl on his face. "That was a perfect alignment too!" he complained. "I can't believe you stopped us for that! Of all questions!" Forde sighed dramatically and inspected his lance with a bored expression.

"I'm sorry," Lute snapped back at him. She turned to Kyle. "Do you know where he is?"

Kyle huffed out a breath. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere. I think Saleh dragged him off to the medical tent."

"What?! Whatever for?" Lute asked anxiously.

Forde prodded Kyle's armor with his lance tip, a mischievous grin on his face. "I'm sure it's nothing. No need to become worried." Kyle told her. Forde poked him again in the side, creating a soft pinging sound.

"Still . . . I wonder why."

"I haven't the faintest idea, but—cut that out, you devil!" Kyle barked at Forde, drawing his lance with a swift movement. "I still haven't gotten you back for your last mischief making!" He batted lances with Forde, trying to shoo him away.

"I'll check it out, Kyle. You're probably right, though." Lute said, unaware of the banter taking place. "Thank you for your help, Kyle!"

"Argh! Forde, get back here, you fiend!" Kyle shouted, wheeling his mount around to pursue an escaping Forde.

"Catch me if you can!" Forde called back as he galloped away, cackling like a madman as he went.

"Forde!"

Lute turned away, shaking her head sadly. _Men. Ah, well, at least I know where Ewan is._ Lute made her way back into camp. She threaded her way through the many tents, making her way towards the medical tent. She noticed, after a moment of searching, that Moulder had taken down the emergency flag. She felt a touch of relief. At least nothing serious was occurring. She made a mental note to visit Natasha while she was there. It was dreadfully lonely and boring in the healer's tent. She'd been there plenty of times to figure that out. Of course, Artur always visited her, recounting the day's events and supplying her with the amusing gossip that tended to originate from the women. Her steps slowed as she remembered the times he'd been injured. She'd had visited him as well, sometimes lulling him to sleep with her humming. Well, most of the time it had been her droning on and on about the battle, a full play-by-play, that had him drifting into unconsciousness. Those thoughts stirred another dose of confused bitterness within her. That morning he had seemed . . . sorrowful for lack of a better term. It was as if he had been hoping for something from her. But she didn't know what that was.

_No, Lute, stop lying to yourself._ She thought sternly. _I know what he means. I know what he wants. But I'm just not sure if I can give it away so easily. It's so obvious that even the prince knows. And yet I just push it aside, ignore it, and cast it away like an expendable trinket, a souvenir stone. Pretty to look at and admire, but soon it will weigh you down and you'll have no choice but to toss it aside and lighten the load. Oh, but if I had only realized that the stone had held a valuable crystal within its seemingly valueless layers. I was wrong._

"But did it feel like he was the one who gave up on me?" Lute whispered aloud.

* * *

**A/N:** (sniff) This is just so sad. But things do get better...after a few chapters...well, maybe more than that, but...you get the idea, right? Things _have_ to get better for our main characters, right? But what, exactly _is_ Kayll doing? Do you have any guesses? Put them in a review and I'll tell you if you're right. 

I will greatly appreciate your patience as I try to settle things at home. I promise not to stay away too long. Thank you.


	18. Needlework of the Heart

**A/N: **Y'all should be thankful I found the time to update this. The difficulties at home are making it increasingly challenging to update. But, I'm not sure how many of your would complain and cry about it, so I've updated to keep you all from despairing. I will be able to update next weekend, but I can't say for sure afterwards. The updates may come later and later, and I sincerely hope you all can find patience for me.

**Disclaimer:**(chants) I claim nothing, I claim nothing. Happy?

* * *

**18) Needlework of the Heart **

Lute woke slowly the next morning and lied there motionlessly for the longest of times. For once, she didn't feel particularly eager to wake up and start the day. She stared at the tarp ceiling, sighing softly. Her thoughts were muddled with sluggish, somber emotions. She didn't have the energy to conjure up a real thought. Eventually, her mind pulled out of the fog and trailed aimlessly. Not surprisingly, Kayll was the first thing that came to mind. The image of Kayll, smirking at her from Artur's side filled Lute with a jealous rage.

"She's the reason why he's acting so bizarre, she has to be!" Lute muttered to the tarp hanging placidly above her.

Suddenly motivated, Lute pulled on a fresh change of clothing and stuffed her feet into her boots. She grabbed up the magic tome nearest her and exited her tent. She still had to find Ewan. After she had walked away from the practice field, she had quickly lost enthusiasm for the task. Instead, she had buried herself in her tent, barricading the doors to her heart with tomes and scrolls. Books, it appeared, were her only solace. She had read tomes she'd long ago memorized. But to be lost in the familiar characters was like balm on a raw open wound. Lute's feverish reading had soon given way to slumber as night quickly blanketed the evening sky.

Now Lute strode determinedly around camp, seeking out a certain red haired sage. Divine light knew how the boy could become a sage. He looked no more than in his mid-teens. But he was a quick learner, eager too. He consumed any and all knowledge he could grasp. He practiced harder as a pupil than anyone else she had ever known. He excelled quickly through the ranks and gained vast amounts of experience. He was dedicated, but he was a boy too. Ever the prankster, he never failed to capture someone in one of his comical traps. And now, after all this time, after all their toils and struggles, he was finally a sage. A sage at a painfully young age. Lute could feel in her bones that Ewan was destined for even greater things as he grew and aged.

Lute peered over at the area where most of the soldiers picked at their slop of a breakfast. There was no sign of the red haired youth. She didn't bother to check the practice field. No one in their right mind would be training this early in the morning. Not everyone was even awake yet. She spotted Amelia and Franz, most likely on their way to "breakfast". She started forward, but stopped very quickly when Franz halted to bend his head to the hardworking young blonde. Lute found herself blushing slightly and hurried away to let the two have their privacy. She wouldn't deny them the joys of infatuation. She gnawed at her lower lip as she walked in the opposite direction. They were happy. She should be happy for them. She shouldn't be envious. And she most certainly shouldn't be on the verge of tears.

She drew in a few quick breaths. "Just calm down. It's nothing really. Young love is overrated anyway." She told herself, not believing for a second her falsehoods. The deep breathing calmed her anyway and she let herself pretend to believe her lies. She stopped a moment to make certain her eyes weren't misty. For a hundredth time she wished there was a book on love. If there was, she probably wouldn't be in this predicament.

Her feet turned her toward the healer's tent. She'd visit Natasha. It was probably the last place she wanted to be now. Natasha would be asleep and beside her, either slumped in a chair or conked out on an adjacent cot, would be Joshua. _That's really brilliant of you, Lute. Sure, go ahead and walk straight into another couple moment. You'll be fine. You might run away, bawling your silly eyes out, but hey, at least you would have visited Natasha. Humiliating Walk-ins on Unsuspecting Lovers, Chapter Two. Brilliant, Lute._

She braced herself as she walked into the tent, prepared to flee at the first sign of an adoring glance. But what she saw made her released her held breath in relief. Of all the places she'd expected to find Ewan, the medical tent wasn't one.

"Moulder, please tell my Teacher, I am perfectly _fine_." Ewan said exasperatedly.

Saleh shook his head. "Fine. _That's _what you call fine?" He pointed at Ewan's side to emphasize his point.

Lute cocked an eyebrow curiously. Ewan was sitting on a standard patient's cot, his tunic draped over the end of it. Moulder was crouched before him, inspecting something apparently very intriguing on Ewan's side. Saleh was standing a few feet away, arms now crossed, his expression one of dismay. Lute stepped forward inquisitively. She glanced over a Natasha, a few cots down. The soft spoken golden haired cleric was fast asleep. And, thankfully, so was Joshua, sprawled on a cot of his own.

"Excuse me, but what is going on?" Lute asked, stepping even closer.

"Hi, Lute!" Ewan greeted in a tone much happier than the one she had last heard him speak in. "Teacher is just being overly concerned again. Really, I'm _fine._" He said with a pointed glance at Saleh, who rolled his eyes.

"Hardly." He looked over at Lute. "Tell me, does _that_ look at all 'fine' to you?" He pointed at Ewan again, where Moulder was studying him with great interest. Lute peered over the priest's shoulder and felt her eyes widen. "She used him like a piece of lady's embroidery." Saleh continued. "How does sowing him up like a torn cloak help him?"

Lute stared, transfixed, at the thread stitching zigzagging through Ewan's flesh. She wasn't sure if she was disgusted or fascinated. The work looked delicate enough, the threads pulled tight to keep the lips of the wound closed. If she were a bit more naïve, she might have thought Ewan had endured through a most gruesome type of torture. But she saw, in the primitiveness of the method, that the needlework had probably saved his life. Still, it didn't mean it had to look pretty. Ewan's skin looked puckered and irritated, red at the sight of the crude form of treatment.

"It's certainly . . . unusual to say the least." Lute commented.

Moulder looked up at Ewan from his study. "Why didn't you come to me yesterday? I could have solved this whole situation had you come to me first."

Ewan was suddenly very interested in his boots. "Well, I kind of . . . forgot." He answered. "That is, until Teacher walked in on me dressing and thought I was dying on the spot."

"You would have acted as I did had you come upon it that way! Imagine, seeing your former student slipping on his tunic, but unfortunate enough to see a hideous wound on his side." Saleh said with utmost distress. "I couldn't help but think a fiend had crept in and attacked!"

Ewan glowered at him. "He even carried me half the way here before he realized I was still alive." He told them sourly. "But it doesn't hurt! It hasn't hurt for days! I've never seen this way of healing before, but it works!"

"Nevertheless, she did patch you up like a piece of torn fabric. It isn't humane, is what I mean." Saleh said, perturbed. "Can you heal him, Moulder?"

The priest straightened and stared down at the wound. "I could, if there wasn't thread obscuring the way. I imagine I could cut it, but . . . would extracting the stitching cause more damage?"

Saleh closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "But if it were removed, you would be able to heal him, wouldn't you?" he asked. Lute wasn't sure what she thought of the idea herself. She was at the crossroads of intrigue and revulsion.

"Yes, I could, undoubtedly."

"Then do so, please, if you would." Saleh requested. Moulder hunted among his various supplies on a table a few feet away. "I can't imagine what kind of background that girl has if she's sewing wounds with thread." The Sage continued, sounding disgusted.

The mention of Kayll brought Lute back to her true objective. "Oh, Ewan, I meant to ask you something."

"Ask away." He replied, eyeing the tiny belt knife Moulder had produced from the table.

"Have you noticed anything . . . peculiar about Kayll?"

"Peculiar, how?" Ewan prompted. Moulder approached Ewan again and gestured for him to lean away and lift his arm out of the way. "Peculiar as in mouth chained shut about her personal life? Peculiar as in completely antisocial? Or peculiar as in—hey! That tickles! Stop!"

"Hold still!" Moulder ordered as he cut through the threads as gently as possible. "I'm almost done!"

"Well, it tickles!" Ewan exclaimed.

"Ewan? You didn't answer my question. Does Kayll seem odd to you?" Lute pressed.

"Well, I can understand that she'd want to have her privacy, but she does seem a bit—heh heh, stop!" Ewan only received a stern look from Moulder. "Well, like I was saying, she does seem a bit unfriendly. You know, cold, indifferent."

"Cold? Hmph. That's not what I saw." Lute muttered. "In fact, she seemed rather friendly with Artur."

Ewan arched his brows in surprise. "Are we even talking about the same person?" he asked. "The Kayll I know would rather sulk in her tent than—than _socialize._ I'm not even sure if she knows what a social life is."

Lute crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. "The Kayll I'm familiar with has an instinctual tendency to hate me and . . . mess with a person's mind."

"Oh? How so?" Ewan asked, curious as ever. He even seemed to forget about Moulder, who finally withdrew with a handful of stiff, cut threads.

"There. All done." He announced to no one in particular. The priest looked at the revolting threads in his hand. "I'll, uh, just dispose of these."

Lute sighed, oblivious to Moulder's bustling about. "It's Artur. Yesterday morning he was acting odd, but I assume it has something to do with fatigue. But that's not the point. What I mean is, after we arrived back at camp, he seemed to forget about me. His whole attention was centered on Kayll. Well, I don't know if you realize what has been . . . occurring . . . between me and—and Artur, but—"

"We know." The men chorused together.

"Oh." That affirmation made Lute blush with shame. Even they knew while she had tried to remain unaware of the situation. She hadn't thought her love troubles had been broadcasting that clearly. Her fingers toyed with her sleeve in embarrassment.

Ewan gave her a sympathetic smile. "I may not know a lot about love, but, well, it was kind of easy to see something was going on. Anyway, please continue."

A small, grateful smile flickered over her lips. "Thank you Ewan. Um, as I was saying, Artur acts like nothing ever happened . . . not that anything _did_ happen. He's different. I think Kayll has changed him somehow. Before, he would have hunted me down already to see if I had anything of interest planned. I haven't seen him all morning. Of course, it _is_ quite early. But . . . ever since Kayll arrived, I've barely seen him at all."

She couldn't meet anyone's gaze. She was horribly uncomfortable about the subject of love and she didn't know what had possessed her to start an open discussion about the said topic. She trusted them, though. She knew they wouldn't say anything unless she told them it was fine with her. Well, she _hoped_ they wouldn't say anything. She wasn't too sure about Ewan. He had been known in the past to have an open mouth.

"Lute, I believe you're overreacting a little bit." Saleh said gently. His kind tone made her glance up at him. He too, had a considerate expression on his features. She was grateful that he was trying to understand. "I believe Artur is simply . . . inquisitive about the new arrival. But that doesn't mean he, dare I say, loves you any less."

Lute blushed hotly at the mention of the word. She had never felt so guilty, so abashed, in her life. Artur was a perfectly sweet man, simply wanting the return of an emotion he felt passionately about. And she had been insensitive enough to deny him his desire. And now, after she had finally opened her eyes to the truth, it felt like there was nothing she could do to go back to the frame of mind they had once shared. Again she remembered that genuine look of keen concern for her safety after he had pulled her from the spear's path, inattentive as to whether there had been true danger or not. She almost felt like weeping. Almost. If there was something she absolutely would not do in front of the company she was with, or anyone else for that matter, it was to cry.

"Ah, there now," Moulder rested a hand on her shoulder. "Don't look so sorrowful. I'm sure it's nothing. After the way I've seen Artur look at you, I can hardly fathom the thought of him turning his eyes to another."

She smiled bleakly. "Thank you, all of you. You're right. It must be nothing." _But why did he act like he didn't know what was wrong? _

Ewan, finally realizing Moulder had finished his work, reached for his tunic. "I know. Why don't you go look for him and try to settle this whole misunderstanding? I could go with you if you want."

At the suggestion of leaving, Saleh snapped back to the problem at hand. "Oh, no you don't. Moulder hasn't finished yet." He said, snagging the shirt from his former student.

Ewan sighed again, frustrated. "He got the threads out, didn't he?"

"You still look like a pincushion, with the exception of the pins." Saleh retorted, turning a bit green at the metaphoric image that was brought to mind.

Moulder snatched up his stave. "This will only take a second." He told him, muttering the ancient words mandatory for a magical healing to take place. Once the glow had faded, and Ewan no longer looked like a lady's piece of delicate needlework, the young sage bounded to his feet and shrugged into his tunic.

"Divine light! All this fuss over a bit of medical treatment which also _saved my life!_" He threw a look at Saleh and turned to Lute with a smile. "Okay, now I'm ready. That is, unless Teacher would also like me to undergo a full examination just to satisfy his unnecessary worry."

Saleh let loose a weary sigh and waved his hand dismissively. "No, go on. Just don't come back looking like a victim of torture and interrogation."

Ewan rolled his eyes dramatically. "Come on, before he decides to tie me up and never let me go." He muttered to Lute. He exited the tent quickly, pulling Lute along by the arm.

Saleh looked over at Moulder. "Sometimes it surprises me out unaffected he can be." He smiled wryly. "Or how well he can read my mind."

Moulder chuckled. "Ah, I remember when I was just as spirited as he is. Indestructible." He shook his head sadly. "I just hope he's not in for a rude awakening."

Saleh sighed and sank down onto a cot, scrubbing his face with his hands. "That's what I worry about. His recent run-in with a fiend, one that nearly killed him mind, doesn't appear to have fazed him in the least. I just pray someday he doesn't find himself staring death in the eye with something more precious than just his life on the line."

"Love can change us, that's for certain." Moulder replied softly with a glance in Natasha and Joshua's direction. The two were still fast asleep, unconcerned about the predicament that had just occurred. Joshua's cot had been pulled close to Natasha's and his hand gently rested over hers.

Saleh smiled warmly at the sight of the two. "Yes, it can. I just hope Lute and Artur can settle their troubles. I'm sure it will be a relief to all once they realize their affections for one another."

"Ah, yes. Young love. Such a sweet and innocent thing. They say love conquers all." Moulder frowned thoughtfully. "But with the way things are happening, I wonder if love will survive through this ordeal. Without us certain of what the fiends' direct intentions are, anyone and everyone are in danger."

"There is nothing more tragic than a lost loved one." Saleh murmured.

Moulder looked at him with some surprise. "Personal experience?" he asked.

"Yes," Saleh replied softly.

Moulder looked keenly interested, but hesitant whether he should pursue the thought. "Would this have anything to do with Ewan?"

Saleh nodded slowly. "Partly." He met Moulder's gaze. "That boy, to me, is like a son I never had. So dependable, enthusiastic, albeit mischievous," He smiled fondly there. "Dedicated, loyal, and dear to me. There was once a time when I told him should I not survive the war, I wanted him to keep my tomes and scrolls and to look after Dara."

"Who is Dara?" Moulder asked.

"The Caer Pelyn village elder. She looks after everyone and she's also my grandmother." Saleh explained.

"Ah." Moulder nodded. "You said Ewan was only part of it. Who is the other part?"

Saleh shook his head wistfully. "A childhood friend of mine. She was terminally ill. There was nothing any of the healers could do for her. Still, her life was a good one for as long as it had lasted. Nevertheless, the passing from life to a never-ending place of serenity is sorrowing for anyone."

Saleh was silent for a moment and Moulder considered speaking. But after glimpsing Saleh's solemn face, he decided it was best to stay silent as well. Only the sound of soft breathing from further down the tent kept complete silence at bay.

"Ewan is still a target and I worry for him." Saleh murmured at last.

"Is? Not was?"

The sage shook his head. "No, he still is. The fiends may not have killed him this time around, but that doesn't mean they won't be back. They will finish the job. It's been quiet for a few days. I should expect them to strike again soon. The truly tragic part about this whole dilemma is no one has fully come to terms with the consequences. We presumed Ewan dead, but he wasn't. So we grow confident that this threat isn't as fatal as it was told to be. But it is most likely worse than we first thought. No one, not even I, is prepared—let alone willing—to imagine what the costs of this struggle will be."

"I don't see how this is different than the War of the Stones, Master Saleh." Moulder told him with a frown. He sat on the cot Ewan had earlier occupied, feeling the air grow thick with solemnity.

"It is different, Moulder. Very different. In the War of the Stones, none of us were specifically targeted. Well, perhaps Prince Ephraim and Princess Eirika, but that was to be expected. Everyone knew they could die in the war. And many of us nearly did. We all knew that we had to protect those of royal blood even if it meant our demise. It was our duty as soldiers to do so. But, now, facing the vague aims of the fiends, the loss will be keenly felt. There are specific targets, Moulder. Nine of us are meant to die and our foes know exactly who to hunt and who to kill. Ewan is a target. Knoll is a target. Natasha is a target. They are chosen to die for the sake of vengeance." Saleh looked over at him gravely. "I cannot remember a time more grim than this one."

Moulder stared down at his hands, feeling overwhelmed with the severity of the situation. "We've sent Knoll away in hopes of keeping him safe. Perhaps we should do the same with Natasha and Ewan. I'm sure they're homesick and this is for their safety.

"A good argument to take up with Prince Ephraim." Saleh agreed. "In any case, we must decide a course of action. If we sit here idle any longer, the fiends will find their job easier than they had imagined."

"You should be telling Prince Ephraim this, not me." Moulder told him with an attempted smile. "I would ask to speak with him as soon as possible."

Saleh nodded and got to his feet. "Yes, I believe I shall. Perhaps I'll ask Lute to accompany me. She has a way with words as well. And her intelligence will be of great use in persuading Prince Ephraim. I hate to bother him with these consistent pleas of action for I'm sure he's over his head in plans and details, but we need immediate action." Saleh looked over at Moulder with a grave expression. "I fear we don't have much time left."

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**A/N: **Well, I hope you've enjoyed the latest chapter. Things don't seem to be looking up any time soon. (sigh) Well, the next two chapters are going to be a bit long, maybe even slow. But there's a lot of information I need to cover. Please review. Send words of inspiration, please, I need them to get through the next few chapters. Have a happy Easter! 


	19. A Black Hex to Cloud the Mind

**A/N: **Another boring Saturday, right? I'll make it better. Update! Well, I really have nothing to say other than enjoy, so... Enjoy! I'll stop babbling now!

**Disclaimer: **I've been humoring the idea of unleashing the whole Renais army against this annoying pest. But I don't think it will do any good. So I'm stuck with the same old "I do not claim" mantra.

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**19) A Black Hex to Cloud the Mind**

Artur lied awake for awhile, simply thinking as he stared at the tan tarp above his head. At first his mind was empty of thoughts, the sweet silence seeming a blessing to him. But eventually, and inevitably, his mind switched on and all of his thoughts came pouring in like water from a broken dam. He shut his eyes, bracing himself. He prayed to the divine light above that his first moment of wakefulness would be centered on Lute. He prayed that he wasn't going crazy with his interest in Kayll. The first thought surfaced and he could only see Kayll with her clashing twilight blue hair and bright jeweled eyes. He groaned aloud and scrubbed his face with his hands. Kayll's look of interest as he described to her the details of the War of the Stones came back to him. Her smile, small as if she hadn't used it in ages, curved her lips teasingly. Her eyes were bright behind her dangling hair.

_Oh, stop it Artur! _He scolded himself. _Why are you thinking about her so early in the morning? She doesn't matter to you, not that way. That portion of your heart belongs to Lute . . . if she would only accept it._

His mind switched gears and Lute's smiling face came into view. Her hair, silky to the touch he remembered, was a soft lavender veil over her head. It flowed over her shoulders, free of its usual ties. Her eyes were the same shade of purple, but darker, more vibrant, and sparkling as they met his. And her smile, soft and sure, was bright and trusting. He remembered the way he had held her after his frantic attempt to keep her safe. Those thoughts pained him for Lute would never see him the same way. And he had accepted that. He acknowledged the fact that some things simply weren't meant to be.

Artur blew out a breath through pursed lips, hoping to relieve the ache in his chest cavity. _Let it go, Artur, slow and easy. Take out the barbs one at a time so they won't tear._ He opened his eyes slowly, staring again at the canvas. _That's it. Easy now, don't hurry, you'll only make a mistake and further the damage. _His brow furrowed. _But what if this is a mistake? Should I really give up now?_

Kayll's mysterious, secretive ruby orbs flashed into his mind. He swallowed thickly and tried to shake the image. But it persisted with fierce red pinpoints of light. His stomach coiled nastily as it had the first time he had seen her. There was something about her eyes. Her eyes and her touch. Just a simple touch like her hand on his shoulder sent him into a dizzying spiral. There was something about her that he couldn't place. Appealing, perhaps. Yes, that had to be it. He already felt like a close friend of hers after one afternoon in her presence.

_I have to see her again._ That thought jolted through him like a current of lightning. Her tent wasn't far off. It was over by the medical tent, a relatively safe place in the case of an attack. She was an intriguing person. He had the right to visit her; it wasn't like she was prohibited from anyone. And it seemed to him that she didn't make fast friends with many people. He enjoyed her company and hoped the feeling was mutual. He wondered if she was awake yet. It was about the time everyone would be waking. With nothing else to do, Artur changed into fresh clothing and pulled on his boots. He picked up his Elfire tome and tucked it under his arm as he exited the tent.

Artur's feet automatically turned to the direction of Kayll's tent. He needed no further encouraging. If she was awake he would wisely dissuade her from eating the "food" the cook served. He didn't want to lose her interest by soiling it with the gooey waste that was handed out only to be dumped discreetly in and under hiding places by the soldiers. He would start the day with . . . a walk to watch the sunrise? No, she didn't seem like the type to be impressed by the overly romantic, yet simple, gestures. He racked his brain for suggestions. He could introduce her to a few of the soldiers, perhaps giving her a few friends during her stay. That seemed like the best course to take out of all the other pathetic suggestions. He felt like Lute for a moment, wishing there was a handbook on love. And then, as if his thoughts of her invoked karma, he heard Lute's voice call out to him from behind.

"Artur!"

He stopped in mid-stride and turned, a smile creeping its way to his lips. "Hello, Lute." He greeted as he saw her and Ewan walking toward him. _What is Ewan doing with her?_ But his attention was then drawn to the serious look on Lute's face. _This can't be good. I've seen that face before and the results have never turned out good._

"Artur," she said calmly with a hint of nervousness in her tone. "We—we need to talk."

_Talk? I wonder what that means. _"Uh, sure, Lute. What do you wish to talk about?" he asked, honestly only half interested. He wanted to see Kayll again.

Lute stopped before him, taking a breath as if she was nervous. "About . . . us, actually." She told him hesitantly, slowly looking up into his eyes. He saw something there in those soft spheres that brought back a phantom of his stronger, former feelings. Before he might have been thrilled, buoyed with hope. But now . . . Now he only felt uncertainty and confusion.

"Well, um, what about us?" he asked, hoping that if he played clueless he could avoid whatever was coming. He wasn't sure now if his former feelings about Lute had been a good thing. Kayll's face floated in his mind. Artur swallowed uneasily. Lute glanced at Ewan as if looking for encouragement. Slowly, a thought rose within his mind. Maybe he knew what this was all about after all. A small flicker of hope lit inside him. "Does this have anything to do with Ewan?" _Maybe, maybe I can avoid this situation if I just cut to the chase._

She gave him a bemused look. "What? No, I—" she shook her head. "No, if you're thinking that me and Ewan—no, nothing like that."

_All right, so maybe I don't know what's going on. _"Then . . . what is it?"

Lute glanced at Ewan uncomfortably. "Um, Ewan, would you mind if you—"

"Oh! Sure, sure! That's okay." Ewan glanced between them. "That's fine. I'll give you all the privacy you want." He shot Lute one last encouraging smile and walked away.

_Now I'm really confused. _"Lute? By the light, what is going on?"

"Artur," She took a step forward with her eyes trained on the ground. "Artur, I just wanted to say—well, I wanted to tell you earlier, but . . ." She sighed and raised her eyes to his. "I—I want to say that—" She glanced around wildly. "—that I'm sorry."

His brows knit together in confusion. "What? Lute, what are you talking about?" he demanded, not following one word she stammered out.

"I realize now, that I was . . . insensitive and—and wrong." She continued to stutter.

"Wrong? Wrong about what? And how were you insensitive?" Artur asked, quite frustrated that he didn't know what she was babbling on about.

Lute frowned at him. "Don't you remember?"

"Remember . . . ?" he prompted. "Lute, I'm not sure what you mean. If you're talking about yesterday morning—"

"Yes! I am and you don't seem to remember _anything_ that we've said to one another nor what those words meant!" Lute exclaimed, growing quickly angry with him.

Artur took an involuntary step back. "I remember!" he insisted in his defense. "You don't need me; I've come to terms with that. So I'm letting you do what you wish and forgetting anything specifically related to—"

"No!" she shouted desperately. "No! Artur! I _do_ need you! I—I . . ." she trailed off and looked away.

He looked at her with some concern. "Lute, are you sure you're feeling okay? When was the last time you had a decent amount of sleep?"

She looked up at him sharply with wide, disbelieving eyes. "What?!" she exclaimed in a breathy whisper.

"I don't mean you're ill, but, let's be honest here Lute."

"I am!"

He smiled kindly at her. "You don't need to pretend for me, okay? You don't need to act like you feel the same way, when it's obvious you don't, simply to satisfy me. Just please be truthful with me." Artur said gently.

All the while, Lute's expression became more and more astounded and distressed. "_Artur!_" the plea was a wisp of a breath.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, still smiling sympathetically. "It's okay, Lute. I understand and I don't have any hard feelings. I hope we can still be friends and if not, well, at least we tried."

"But—But, Artur!"

"It's okay, really, Lute. I'm fine with it as long as you're happy." He said soothingly, trying to assure her that she had nothing to feel sorry about. A niggling sense of guilt became present in his mind. _I fear I've already moved on, Lute. So you don't have to do this._

She may not have been able to hear his thoughts, but she seemed to get the idea. He couldn't speak when he noticed her glassy eyes. The guilt stabbed further, a blade digging for the back of his heart. He swallowed thickly and bit his lip. She looked truly grief-stricken and the moisture in the corners of her eyes only spread. She tried to nod and lowered her head, perhaps to prevent him for seeing her weak. _Oh, Lute, I'm so very sorry. _He tried to pull her close, in hopes of comforting her, but she pulled away quickly. She smiled widely, the picture of happiness in spite of the too bright eyes.

"Okay, Artur. That's fine with me too. Well, goodbye! It's been nice talking with you." she said too cheerily. With that she turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Artur frowned slightly. He knew the right thing to do would be to go after her and make sure she was all right. It's what a friend would do. But he didn't want to confuse her and give her the wrong idea. So he watched her disappear around a row of tents. Kayll's attractive eyes appeared in his mind again. Artur turned around with a sigh and resumed his walk to her tent. She should be awake by now.

**

* * *

**As soon as Lute rounded the corner, she quickened her pace. She took deep, rapid breaths, willing the wetness of her eyes not to run over. She couldn't see very well, not through the mist in her eyes, and nearly ran into Ewan. She quickly veered around him, continuing her hurried rate. But Ewan wasn't one to be left behind. 

"Hey, Lute, wait!" he exclaimed, keeping stride with her.

"Not now, Ewan." She said tiredly, not allowing the repressed sob to waver her words.

"But, Lute, I heard the whole thing. You don't need to pretend for me." he spoke with a tone that said he only wanted to help her.

"Yes, well, as you said before, you don't know much about love. And I will be forever grateful if you keep your mouth shut about this whole affair. Hear this Ewan, love is a waste of valuable time." she paused long enough to give him a meaningful look. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important matters to attend to." Lute bustled past him and strode to her tent. She claimed refuge there and glanced about to make sure no one was near. Satisfied that Ewan had dropped away and out of sight, she sat heavily on her bedroll.

She sighed once to herself, hugging her knees. She bowed her head to her knees and held her breath. The hurt ebbed away and not one of those accursed tears fell, not one sound escaped her. She wouldn't even allow herself that. Lute straightened after a moment, completely free of the horrifying tears. Now that she was collected again, she could use her time for something useful.

_See, I knew love would only interfere with my thinking and rational thoughts. I let myself believe in love for a few minutes, and look what it nearly did. The one and only time I go to Artur to confess my faults and my love, he believes that I'm purposely acting to make him happy. Well, there will be no more of that. Ever. _

Lute stood and straightened her robes. She chose her trusty Fire tome from the large selection. Fire wasn't particularly powerful, but it was the Anima magic she had started out with and it was the one magic she trusted most. She left her shelter and made her way to Prince Ephraim's tent. She'd convince him to decide on a plan of action. This sitting around had to stop now. Action would be productive. It would give her something to do and possibly help figure out who was in danger. So caught up was she in her determined thoughts, she didn't notice Saleh join her on her walk.

"Hello, Lute," he greeted.

"Oh, hello Master Saleh." She replied brightly.

"Is everything all right now? Have you resolved things with Artur?" he asked gently, assuming that this might or might not be a fragile topic to speak about.

She could feel his calm stare upon her. "Oh, yes. Everything is fine now." She said with a slight smile.

"Really? That's good to know." There was relief in his voice and she knew he wasn't following her train of thought. "Are you happy now, knowing that you were simply overreacting?"

"Yes, I am very happy now that I know the truth." She said brightly. "But I wasn't overreacting. Quite the opposite I think. Ah, well, it doesn't matter to me anymore."

A puzzled frown flickered over his features. "What really went on, Lute? I believe I'm missing something key to this predicament."

She shot him a simple smile. "Oh, it's really not that important. I've learned that love is a waste of time and focus. Artur has learned that love is just not possible. I think he's moved on . . . maybe not even by his own will." Lute spoke with the same sunny tone she had started out with.

This time Saleh did frown. Deeply. "And . . . you're okay with this?" There was a note of bewilderment and skepticism. But that was all right. She really didn't believe it to be true either, but it was.

"Of course I am. I knew from the beginning what was reinforced just minutes ago. And Artur . . . well, he was a bit of a dreamer." She shrugged to show she honestly didn't care. "And now I'm going to do something useful with my time. Something practical, logical, sensible. I hope you note that love is none of these things."

"I see." He didn't. But Lute didn't concern herself with that. "Are you on your way to speak with Prince Ephraim?" he asked, switching the topic to safer ground.

"Yes, I am. I plan to get this retaliation in motion. I see that Prince Ephraim is having a bit of trouble deciding what to do. I hope to encourage him." Lute explained.

"That is also what I'm aiming for." Saleh responded. "Moulder and I came up with an idea to keep the previously targeted safe. Ewan may not approve of it, but we believe it's for the best."

Lute nodded in approval. "That's another thing we need to do. Protect those in danger. And—" A thought suddenly came to her. She examined this realization and discovered she had forgotten something vitally important. "Light above! I've forgotten—Natasha—and the arrow—the message!"

Saleh stared at her curiously. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

She turned around, quickly walking back in the direction she had come. "How could I have forgotten? Oh, curse all this drama! What with all that's happened, I've taken no notice of the third message!" She glanced at him. "I'm sorry, Master Saleh! There is something I _must_ attend to!" She sprinted toward the medical tent, mind racing. Curse love and all of its useless traits. She had forgotten a significant factor, a very, very crucial piece of information! She shouldn't have forgotten anything! But that black hex called love had nearly ruined everything!

Lute stopped quickly outside of the tent, hesitating. She didn't want to disturb Natasha. _You silly fool! You just don't want to walk in on an intimate moment._ She collected herself with a deep breath and walked in. Lute was relieved to see that Natasha was awake and not engaged in any potentially humiliating moments. Moulder was checking Natasha's range of movement and strength in her left arm. She cleared her throat, drawing their attention. Moulder smiled at her with hinted meaning. But she ignored that.

"I'm so sorry if I'm interrupting anything," she began.

Moulder shook his head. "No, no. That's fine. What can I help you with, Lute?" he asked, gently releasing Natasha's arm.

Lute glanced over at the golden haired cleric and her swordmaster companion. "Actually, I was wondering if Natasha or Joshua could help me. You see, with every attempted murder the fiends have left clues on the weapon of choice. I apologize for not thinking of this sooner, but I was . . . engaged in other matters." Moulder nodded understandingly, a movement Lute chose to ignore. "I was wondering, Joshua, if you knew where that particular arrow disappeared to?"

He frowned thoughtfully for a moment. "I couldn't say what we did with it, Lute. I'm sorry. But I would ask General Seth. He and Eirika most likely notified Prince Ephraim. I wouldn't be surprised if either Seth or the Prince had it." he told her.

She nodded. "Thank you for your help, Joshua." Lute smiled over at Natasha. "Are you feeling better?"

The cleric smiled back. "Yes, much better, thank you. Moulder says I'll be back on my feet soon enough. I'm glad I'll be back in the field again. I would feel simply horrid if I couldn't do my part for this struggle."

Joshua frowned, not too fond of that idea. "Yeah, well, that'll be when you're in full health. And from what I've heard, this 'struggle' is nothing to sneeze at. There's no way I'm gambling on this one."

"Joshua is right on this, I'm afraid." Lute agreed. "But when you are back in peak condition, we'll all welcome you back. We've learned the hard way not to become too cocky in battle. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must hunt down that arrow."

"I hope everything works out for you, Lute." Moulder said in farewell.

Lute knew all too clearly what he really meant. She gave them a fleeting smile and left in the same hurried pace she had used to arrive there. Seth's tent was next Princess Eirika's, which was also fairly close to Prince Ephraim's. And that was none too short of a walk. With all this running about, she'd be too tired to join a skirmish should there be one today. She prayed there wouldn't and tried not to jinx her luck. But with her record, anything could happen. Minutes later, Lute slowed in front of Seth's tent.

"General Seth? Are you here? I must ask you an important question." She called. "General Seth?"

Franz, who had been passing by, saw her and walked over. "General Seth just left for a meeting his presence was requested for." He explained. "You might be in time to talk with him before it starts if you hurry."

Lute sighed. "Thank you Franz."

And so she set off again. _Why can't anything be in its proper place so I can find it?_ she thought in exasperation.

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**A/N: **This may seem like an odd place to stop. Well, it is. When I had originally typed this up, the chapter was **huge** and I was sure someone would give me problems. So, with my creative abilities, I shortened it to a size everyone is happy with. (Well, at least I hope.) The next chapter is the longest I've ever written, so I hope you have some time on your hands. Not a lot of action, but...it gets interesting.

Please review!


	20. Untimely Outburst

**A/N: **Wow. Chapter 20. I can't believe it! My fic has reached 20 chapters and all of you reading this now have stayed with me this long! I'm amazed, stunned, shocked, etc. Okay, enough of my ranting. In this chapter there isn't too much action, but there is a lot of talking. And at least a few characters lose their cool. That's always fun to watch. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** These blasted things are so boring. (falls asleep)

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**20) Untimely Outburst**

She jogged the short distance between tents and burst in without any ceremonious announcement. She looked about the tent and saw the essential people gathered there. She panted for breath and noticed with some relief that everyone she needed to speak with were here.

"Ah, Lute, there you are." Ephraim greeted. "I was ready to send someone after you. But I see your intuition has succeeded again and found us first."

"Hah! I've been running everywhere about camp to look for all of you!" she exclaimed as she found a makeshift chair to sit in. She then glimpsed Kayll in the corner of the tent, observing everyone with cool jeweled eyes. Lute swallowed down the sourness at the back of her throat. Instead of glaring at the "peasant", she turned to Seth. "General, do you have any idea where the arrow—"

He nodded, cutting her off. "Yes, in fact, I brought it with me in hopes that you would be at this meeting as well. I haven't seen you for some time, so this was my last chance."

The silver armored paladin handed her the arrow which she took greedily. It bore the same distinct characters as the last two weapons had. Lute eagerly read over the message, finding nothing of keen interest. She looked up to see everyone watching her intently, all awaiting the verdict. She placed the arrow on Ephraim's desk, which they were all gathered around, with a sigh.

"It bears the same warnings. But this time the grammar has expanded. It appears they've realized we have someone who can read the Voice. 'Six more are to perish'. 'We will not be foiled again'. 'Retaliation is futile, we are many and you are few'." Lute interpreted.

"I'm curious, Lute." Kayll spoke up with icy calm. "How is it you can read the language of your enemies, when they weren't around long enough for anyone to write tomes about them?"

"I asked the very same thing!" Prince Innes mumbled and earned a few disapproving looks, which he ignored.

"I've studied under the guidance of the only remaining Manakete, a girl named Myrrh. Surely you have heard of the legends of the Manakete, correct? You do live near the Woods, after all." Lute asked pointedly.

Kayll's eyes narrowed noticeably. "The Manakete were a desperate race. Foolish and reckless. They thought they could take on all of King Fomortiis's vassals. No one, not even they, should be that cocky."

Lute cast an interested and challenging look at her. "You seem to think you know much of the Manakete. And, with your use of past tense verbs, you seem to think that the Manakete are no more. Why is that? Not many 'peasants' I know are as skilled in grammar as you are. And I don't think many of them would risk their lives to report an apparently important message, even though they have no interest in the arts of war. I think we've all established the fact that you aren't a peasant as you say you are. Why don't you simply tell us the truth? I hear it can be very liberating."

Kayll glared coldly. "I'm not stupid enough to fall for that trick." She sneered.

Lute raised both her brows in astonishment. "What trick? I've no idea what you're talking about!"

"I'm sure you don't." she replied flatly. "I meant: I'm not the village idiot. I know what you're trying to do."

"And what would that be?" Lute asked calmly, hoping to draw her out.

"You're trying to make me say something that will allow you to place blame on me. You hope to turn everyone against me simply because I'm taking away time from you and your less-than-loyal boyfriend." Kayll explained smoothly with a vainglorious smile.

Lute drew a sharp breath to reply, the anger bubbling in her chest, but Ephraim cut in quickly. "Peace, please. We're hear to discuss important matters concerning the ones at risk, not argue over petty matters of, dare I say, boyfriend-stealing." He said calmly, shooting Lute a questioning look complete with an upraised brow.

The mage knight crossed her arms, looking away while setting her jaw and huffing out a breath of exasperation. She refused to say anything about that particular subject. Especially here in front of her superiors. She snuck a glance at Kayll and her anger boiled. The "peasant" seemed extremely happy with herself, a smug look on her face. Lute would have _loved _to wipe that smirk off her face.

"Now," Prince Ephraim addressed the others. "This meeting will be an open discussion. Anything, _concerning this particular struggle_ is welcome and all may share their mind. Who would like to begin?"

Saleh stood from his make-shift seat on a crate. "Moulder and I thought of an idea that may provide safety for those already targeted. As we all know, Knoll was taken back to Grado to fully recover and to be as far away as possible from any danger. Moulder suggested that we do the same with Natasha and Ewan. The fiends tried to kill them once and we believe that they will stop at nothing to succeed in their plans. Keeping Natasha and Ewan here, despite how helpful they could be, would only be placing them in further danger."

Innes nodded approvingly. "A sensible idea, although, we would be down one offensive unit and one aid. It might be a risk we have to take, but I would prefer not to. Now, if we had Gerik and his mercenaries, then I would think differently."

But Lute shook her head. "The last time someone tried to find them, they were struck down by fiends . . . and were rescued by a 'peasant' just happening to pass by." The lavender haired magic user shot a look over at Kayll who returned the look just as coldly.

Innes bobbed his head reluctantly. "True, but perhaps that unfortunate incident had something to do with the fact the fiends already had plans to kill him. Maybe we simply haven't sent the right person for the job."

"And who might that be, Innes?" Eirika asked curiously.

The Prince of Frelia gave Eirika a bright, generous smile that reached his gray eyes. "We would need to send someone who can cover ground at a fast pace, but be thorough in their search. I would appoint Cormag for the job. He and his wyvern are dependable and swift, certain to get the job done."

"What about Vanessa, Brother?" Tana suggested from her seat next to Eirika. "Or Syrene? They're equally suitable and they're our own soldiers."

Innes turned to his deep violet haired sister. "True, they are just as steady as Cormag. But I would use them to scout the region ahead. The pegasi are delicate and from that comes dainty swiftness. They are able to dodge any amount of bolts shot at them, which makes them such superb scouts. They're strong and hardy as well. They may not have the brute strength of a wyvern, but you can be assured they won't shy from any enemy. Syrene and Vanessa can report any approaching enemy forces while we, hopefully, structure a plan of attack. We should also have a brigade of soldiers on standby, prepared for any and all attack. I would suggest a long-range magic user, a few cavaliers or a paladin, one flying unit, a fighter, and a sniper, namely me. These units should be ready at a minute's notice."

Ephraim nodded his approval. "An excellent plan, Innes."

"I thought so." He replied smugly.

The aforementioned prince's brow twitched. "Yes, Innes, all of your plans are usually excellent."

"I know. Only I can think of them." There was a lazy, self-absorbed smirk on Innes's face that his made rival glower.

"Yes, Prince Innes, we have established that idea long ago." Ephraim said patiently and then cleared his throat. "Now, are we all in agreement that Ewan and Natasha should be taken to a relatively safer location?"

There were murmurs of agreement among the people there. But Kayll frowned and sprang to her feet. She shot Ephraim a cool, but displeased look. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I didn't think this was a democracy. Why should you be asking common soldiers for their thoughts?"

"Hmph. I'm _not _a 'common soldier'! What a disgrace!" Innes mumbled under his breath.

The Prince regarded her with the same cool stare, an immense amount of patience in his teal eyes. "A wise ruler seeks the voices of others before speaking his own. It appears as though you wish to speak. What is your voice, Kayll?" Ephraim asked with a calm Lute didn't think was possible to possess.

Kayll's eyes narrowed. "What does a peasant's word mean?" she spat bitterly.

The Prince took a breath as if to clear his head of reckless emotions. "As Lute has said in a very forthright manner, I don't believe you are who you say to be. No peasant should be aware of the fiends still lurking."

"Unless those fiends have ransacked villages and farms." Kayll finished.

"Lies!" Lute exclaimed, slapping her hands on the desk as she stood. "Those fiends are smarter than that. What could they possibly gain from farms or small villages? They don't need food, the majority is already dead and those who breathe and bleed feed on the essence of Dark Magic. Farms and villages don't exactly have vast amounts of weaponry lying about. The fiends wouldn't target any of those places. They would raid large cities where such bounty is plentiful."

The air was thick with tension. The animosity directed through heated gazes was tangible. Seth shifted from foot to foot at his position behind Eirika. Tana glanced between the two hot-blooded vixens nervously. Ephraim made a move to speak but was cut off.

"The essence of Dark Magic." Saleh murmured thoughtfully. His voice was so quiet that one would assume he was talking to himself or thinking aloud, which most likely was the case.

"What?" Lute asked, tearing her eyes away form Kayll's burning glare.

"You said, 'the essence of Dark Magic'." Saleh repeated. He looked up at her with a contemplative expression.

"Yes, I did." Lute replied slowly. She knew Saleh was thinking deeply about something crucial. She waited patiently, knowing that the next things he would say would be an answer to at least one of their questions.

"You said, the fiends that still breathe and bleed feed on the essence of Dark Magic." He continued as his mind began drawing a conclusion.

"Yes, yes!" Innes exclaimed impatiently. "We know what she said! What point are you trying to make?"

Seth spoke before anyone else could. "Wait. The Demon King's subjects are Undead, aren't they? They don't need to breathe and they shouldn't be able to bleed. None of those we defeated in the war did such things."

Lute nodded and turned her attention reluctantly to the silver armored paladin. "True, they didn't. But we all agree these creatures we now face are cleverer, more powerful. I'm not sure how or why they can function as living creatures now, but those I have faced with my hunting parties _did_ bleed from superficial wounds. I can only assume—"

"Power," Saleh murmured aloud again. "They have more power."

Innes sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, Master Saleh! I believe we have established that!"

"We're asking ourselves the wrong questions." Saleh continued, almost oblivious to Innes's outburst. "Innes, in order to stop an opposing army's function, you must know _how_ they function, correct?"

"Yes," he answered in a huff of breath.

"Instead of asking who the fiends are targeting, we should ask ourselves: how they are able to walk the earth this day when the Demon King's soul is locked away?"

"An alternate power source." Lute murmured, answering the question without even a moment's consideration. Inwardly, she was trying to follow Saleh's line of thinking. She felt the answer just out of reach and grew anxious.

He nodded. "The essence of Dark Magic." He looked at everyone gathered in the tent. "The fiends must have another source of Dark Magic. They must be imbued with a magic so powerful that they were able to take the semblance of an actually living, breathing creature."

Lute pursed her lips in concentration. She slowly shook her head. "No, that can't be possible. The only power capable of that measure of restoration would be the Demon King's own soul. But, he has been imprisoned in the only remaining Sacred Stone." She looked over at Ephraim and Eirika. "Has anyone, besides yourselves, come in contact with the Sacred Stone?"

"Are you accusing one of us of turning mutinous?!" Innes exclaimed, gray eyes glittering with outrage.

Ephraim directed a stern look at the Prince of Frelia. "Calm yourself, Innes. Lute said no such thing." Innes glowered at his adversary who turned away from him, not catching the glare. "No, Lute, no one has touched the Sacred Stone since we captured the Demon King's soul. It has been in my possession all this time. I have it under lock and key. No one may approach its place of residence without my consent or knowledge."

Lute nodded thoughtfully. "If the Sacred Stone hasn't been corrupted by any force probable, then how is it possible that the fiends were resurrected?"

Silence met her question. No one could think of a reasonable answer. Innes sighed wearily. "It seems to me that we have a mystery on our hands." He muttered. "I fear I may not be of much use in this. I have no expert knowledge on the dark forces of magic. And if our infamous prodigy can't solve this, then we are as good as doomed."

"No need to be the pessimist, Innes." Eirika said softly. "It won't do use any good here." Innes motioned to speak, but closed his mouth. He sat back in his chair and nodded, watching Eirika. The Princess glanced around at those gathered there. "We need not don the cloaks of despair. We will figure this out; we simply mustn't give up. Did my brother give up when Grado first invaded Renais? No, he went straight to the front lines. Did Innes give up when Pablo and his men surrounded him on all sides? No, he bravely stood his ground, ready to die with his bow in hand. Did we give up when both Caellach and Valter ambushed us outside of Jehanna Hall? No, we fought on in spite of the heat and the sand, in spite of the overwhelming numbers and enemies bearing down on us. Or what of the time when we faced impossible odds in Rausten's halls, against Riev and his men in the dark-as-pitch blackness? Did we give up then? Of course not! We fought on and we fought hard!

"So does this mean we can give up? We've barely even begun the fight! What is there to give up if we haven't even started? There is a fighting chance yet, a hope born of the determination of our soldiers. Perhaps we cannot answer a few questions now. All we need to do is relax and let the answers come to us. Pursuing the issue relentlessly may sound suitable to some of you, but does that not strain your minds? I believe we should finish the issue we had originally begun the meeting with and then retire to our tents for some much needed rest."

The Princess's words were inspiring to say the least. Her words had lifted them from any melancholy thoughts that had tainted their minds. Saleh nodded his approval as did many others. A few murmurs of agreement could be heard. Only one was not affected. Kayll sat with her arms crossed and her mouth tugged down into a frown.

"Our original argument, as everyone has forgotten, concerned sending Ewan and Natasha away." The red eyed peasant reminded. "I think that's an absurd idea!"

Lute had her own frown on her face. "Oh, how so, Kayll?" she challenged.

"As Innes said, you would be losing one offensive unit and one aid. Don't you think you would need _more_ of them, not _less_?" Kayll pointed out. "They may be safe, hiding away, but where would that leave you? You would be weakened! Sure, there may be a few of you who know how to heal, but isn't Natasha an expert in that area? Yes, there may be some of you who can attack from afar, but doesn't Ewan specialize in magic which is more effective against fiends rather than steel?"

"I thought you didn't like the arts of war, Kayll." Lute reminded sourly. _If she thinks she's trying to fool anyone, she better think again._

Kayll's gaze narrowed. "I don't, but that doesn't mean one can't think logically." She retorted.

Innes leaned forward in his chair to peer at her with narrowed eyes. "For a peasant who doesn't like war, you seem to know about the compatibility of weapons and magic against our legendary foes. How could that be, if you are a peasant who hates war?"

Lute's eyes widened. She hadn't caught that slip-up. She relished the shocked, sour expression on Kayll's face. She felt like laughing. _Try to get out of that, "peasant"!_

Kayll's face smoothed over and she reclined in her seat, suddenly accumulating the air of a haughty noble. "I said I dislike the arts of war, true, but I never said anything about partaking in one. You are all so quick to assume and to overanalyze. It is not uncommon for anyone who has fought to abhor war. Frankly, you make me want to laugh. It's a wonder the fiends haven't taken care of all of you by now. You're so dense to the true danger around you! And so slow! Your prince, especially."

Innes ignore the insults and focused on one detail in particular. "So, Kayll, you've fought before? in a war? with weapons?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I've fought before, is that a crime?"

"In the war?" Innes persisted.

"Yes, in the war!" Kayll answered with an exasperated sigh.

Innes propped his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers together. "Tell, which army were you part of?"

"Rausten, of course."

"Of course." Innes agreed quietly. "I don't remember seeing you anywhere on the battlefield. Why would that be?"

"Well, Prince, I—"

"That's Prince Innes or sir, to you, soldier." He interjected in clipped tones.

"Well, _sir_, I should be the one asking you that question. The Renais army didn't exactly cover the entirety of the battlegrounds. You hopped from battle to battle according to your interest. There were hundreds of skirmishes across the face of Magvel. I was part of a lesser battalion and therefore didn't join any of the significant battles. Is that so hard to believe?" Kayll explained snidely.

A muscle in Innes's jaw tightened. "No, it's not." He replied between clenched teeth. "Your story seems plausible . . . for as naïve as you are. Tell me, what were some of the requirements to join the Rausten army?"

Her eyes flashed like a wildfire. "Naïve?! Hardly!" she exclaimed. "And as for your question, a few requirements are: you must be a legal adult; you must be a legal citizen of Rausten—you know, all that legal business and so forth."

"You don't look like a legal adult." Tana spoke up.

"I may not be, but I was accepted because I was cruelly orphaned with no guardian. I was an adult in my own terms. I had no qualms about dying. I didn't believe I would come to loathe to concept of war, but I did and pulled out as soon as my infantry regiment wasn't needed." Kayll explained effortlessly.

Lute narrowed her eyes. Kayll acted like she knew what she was talking about, but Lute still didn't believe her. Kayll was the type to twist her words and let people hear what they wanted to hear.

"Are you a worshipper of the Lady Light Divine?" Innes asked nonchalantly with a small smile on his lips. Lute knew that to be the look of victory, like a cat with its prey trapped before it.

Kayll's thin brows furrowed slightly. "Who?"

"The Mistress in White, Her Grace of the Sunrise, Milady Golden Ray, the One-With-Fire-In-Her-Eyes." Innes listed. "Are you a worshipper of Her or not?"

Kayll visibly swallowed. "Of course." She answered weakly.

Innes's eyes shone with triumph. "Or do you prefer His Majesty Cloaked in Twilight? The Lord of Evening? He-Who-Crawls-In-Darkness? Master of All Trodden Beneath? King Fomortiis, commonly known as the Demon King?"

Kayll leapt to her feet, hot eyes seeming even hotter in the face of titles not unknown to her. "How dare you accuse me of skulking with King Fomortiis?!" she screamed.

Innes reclined in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. "I dare you accordingly." He said smugly. "Really, Kayll, if you want to talk culture with me, you best know what you're saying." He grinned widely.

"Idiots! Oafs! Daft, cocky, curs!" Kayll screamed. "You know not what you mean! You know not what you say! Dogs of the palace! Scum of the dank dungeons! Thieves! Murderers! You know not what you do! A curse on all of you for your ignorance! A curse on your children, your land, and your crowns! I warned you!" She pointed at Ephraim with a jabbing finger. "I warned you, Prince of Failures, King of Dim-Witted Fools, His Pathetic--!"

"That is _enough!_" Seth shouted, grabbing Kayll roughly by the arm. "You know not to whom you speak!"

"I know to _whom I speak!_" Kayll shrieked at him, clawing at his firm grip. "I speak to the Prince of Killers! The King of the Damned! The Lord of Bast—"

"_Enough!_" Seth bellowed, wrestling her towards the entrance flap of the tents. "You shall not speak to Lord Ephraim like that! Be gone until you can speak without malice!"

"Never! He deserves to know what his people truly think!" Kayll, in a last gesture of spite, spit at him. The gob of saliva landed a few feet from where the stunned prince sat. Seth then hauled her out of the tent. Lute heard a few more choice adjectives spew from Kayll's mouth. The mage knight shook her head and studied the prince and his taken aback expression.

Eirika touched his shoulder. "Don't listen to her. She talks of nothing."

Ephraim nodded with a sigh. "Yes, I know." His eyes hardened. "She has done nothing to convince me of trusting her word. I cannot be sure who is in danger."

"She told you who was targeted?" Lute asked sharply.

"Would you believe her if she did?" Innes retorted, inadvertently defending Ephraim.

Lute frowned. "Well, no, but at least we could keep that information in mind."

"Even as useless as it is?" Innes scoffed.

She frowned, but said nothing. Ephraim released a weary sigh. "Nevertheless, we must decide on a course of action. It is agreed that Kayll cannot be trusted."

"Brother, perhaps we shouldn't be so quick to judge." Eirika cautioned. "True, she was less than polite, but that doesn't mean her information is false."

"As much as I'd like to believe you, Eirika," Innes cut in. "She has lied to us. She's not a Rausten soldier as she told us. In order to register for the Rausten army it's a requirement to be a follower of the Lady Light Divine, simple enough as the majority of Rausten follows the same religion. But she is a soldier, to whom, I don't know. As for her story about being a peasant, I doubt it to be true. Why should we even attempt to trust her?"

"There is a certain tone in her voice that rings true." Saleh said quietly. They all turned to give Saleh a confused and questioning look.

"How so?" Innes asked.

But the teacher shook his head. "I know not. There is something about her, despite all of her outer appearances, which is true and honest. I sense it. We shouldn't write her off so quickly. Besides, everyone deserves a second chance to be understood, right Lute?"

She blinked in surprise as they turned to look at her. "What?" She glanced quickly over at Saleh. "What are you--? Oh." _Artur._ "Oh, right. I suppose so, if they wish for a second chance." She said reluctantly with a nod.

Ephraim cleared his throat as an awkward silence began to fall. "Well, I say we go along with what Innes has said. I'll send Cormag to look for Gerik and his mercenaries. If Gerik isn't already occupied by a current employer, we'll hire him on."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Innes interjected. "I'll send a letter with Cormag. My inquiry should be enough to convince Gerik to join our cause."

Ephraim nodded. "Very well. We shall also have a battle-ready team standing by. Lute, Kyle, Forde, Vanessa, Garcia, and Innes will be part of the team." He cast a look toward Lute. "Do you have any objections?"

"No, none at all."

"While Cormag is seeking out Gerik, we'll make our way toward Darkling Woods. We should make a stop at Rausten Court and ask L'Arachel for her assistance. I'm sure she won't want to be left out when there's evil to vanquish. Seth, please notify the others of the battle-ready team. Hopefully, they will be enough to stay the any enemy forces long enough for the rest of us to move into position. This team will take shifts in patrolling the area in groups of two. As for Kayll . . ." Ephraim hesitated and then sighed. "I shall give her a second chance."

Innes snorted in contempt. "She'll be the death of us all." He muttered. "You'd do best to send her back where she came from."

"Perhaps, but we all deserve second chances, as Saleh said." The prince glanced at them. "All of you are dismissed—" They all stood to leave and began to exit the tent. "—except you, Lute." She froze and turned to him. "I'd like a word with you, if you don't mind."

Lute returned to her place at his desk and waited. He slowly looked up at her and gestured that she should sit. "What do you wish to say, Prince Ephraim?" she asked cautiously as she sat, rearranging her battledress. He didn't answer her, merely studied her with a stare that unnerved her. She knew this wasn't going to be a pleasant talk.

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**A/N: **Wow, that was pretty heated. Heh, poor Kayll. But she had it coming for her some time or another. Uh-oh. What's the prince gotta say to Lute?? Hmm. Do you know?? Review please! Thank you! And don't worry, there will be some action later on. I promise. Give me a chapter or two and things will pick up.

Attention all readers! If you enjoy InnesxEirika fics, please, please, check out my newest fic: The Arrow Pierced Heart. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but I've decided it will be longer. It won't be a huge, multi-chaptered fic, but rather a small 3-4 chaptered fic. Please read and review it! Thank you so much!


	21. The Pure and The Tainted

**A/N: **Hello, dear readers! Here's the latest update! I don't have much to say in this A/N, so...read, enjoy, and review!

**Disclaimer:** (engages in a staring contest with Disclaimer) ...

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**21) The Pure and the Tainted**

"Tell me again why we are sending these messages. Does it really matter? I doubt they can read the Voice." Zahn said.

Zinneth hissed with impatience. "Of course it matters!" she exclaimed and paused in her writing. "My spies suspect that there might be someone in the Renais army that may be able to read the Voice. If we send them this message of forewarning, they will undoubtedly react to it. How they act will reveal how much they know about us."

"I told you Zinneth knew what she was doing!" Syn told the first head.

Zahn growled. "Do not use the tone with me or I _will_ chew you off." He threatened.

"Fools!" Ryfon snarled at the other two heads. "Stop this bickering! A one headed gwyllgi is a poor leader. The others would issue a protest that will result in my exile."

Zinneth shook her head. She briefly wondered why she even bothered trying to talk with the gwyllgi general. The three headed demon canine frequently argued over everything. But she needed them to send a message. Ryfon-Zahn-Syn wouldn't personally deliver the message. But they would allow one of their expendable subjects take the letter to the humans. A mauthe doog was just as fast as a gargoyle. She didn't dare ask Pedirot; it would simply result in another argument that might leave the Council with one less general. And she definitely wasn't talking about herself.

She finished writing with one last curving stroke and let the dye dry. Zinneth washed her forefinger's nail, cleaning it of the staining dyes she had written with. She gestured to the piece of wood that had served as her parchment as she turned to the gwyllgi general.

"As I was saying, I would like to ask you if you would allow one of your kind to carry the message." She said, pinning the hellhound with her stare.

"I think it is a deviously wonderful idea." Syn said, growling with pleasure.

Zahn snorted. "I think it is preposterous idea! Wasting time simply to figure out if the little humans can read—ridiculous! Why do we not just attack them now?!"

"Ah, Zahn, you always were the dense one." Ryfon muttered. "Thalos said Bire and Farrik would attack on the days of the Red Moon Rising. That is not for a few days. Everything must be carefully planned if we wish to succeed. King Fomortiis _was_ defeated by them, after all."

"Which brings me to my next question." Zahn replied. "If the almighty King was defeated, then who is to say Zinneth will not meet the same fate?"

Ryfon snarled fiercely at him. "Zinneth is all we have left of our King Fomortiis. She carries the last fragments of his magic, his soul. I suggest you keep your muzzle shut if you wish to live. Syn and I can cope without you just fine."

"'Fragments', Ryfon. You said she had_ fragments_ of his soul. King Fomortiis had his whole soul, and what good did that do for him, eh? He still was destroyed in the end. If she has less power than him, how are we to succeed at all?" Zahn pointed out, regardless of the ruby slits glaring at him with all the animosity they could muster.

"We learn from our mistakes, Zahn." Syn interjected before Ryfon or Zinneth did or said anything rash. "The King had few flaws and from those we can learn. We will not meet the same fate. We are stronger than those that came before us. We can overpower the humans. Thalos's kin will obliterate them. Zinneth's forces will stop them stone still." Syn seemed to chuckle here at his own joke. "And the rest of us will make sure none survive."

"I thought our objective was to avenge King Fomortiis. Why strain ourselves to slaughter the whole army?" Zahn asked in a confused grumble.

"Because, you dolt!" Zinneth snapped. "That infamous Prince Ephraim will want revenge for the deaths. He will not stop until our ash covers him like a winter cloak. Yes, our original plan was just to seek vengeance on those that begun and ended our King. But, after considering all factors, I have decided that we should pursue those that pose a threat to our existence."

"Very well," Zahn said grudgingly. "I see your logic."

"Good." Zinneth picked up the thin, smooth piece of wood. "Now, will you allow a servant of yours to take this message or not?"

Ryfon nodded. "Of course. I will send a messenger tonight, if it pleases you."

Zinneth smiled widely to reveal a serpent's fangs in her almost human-like face. "Yes, it pleases me much." She laughed, a cold hissing sound. "First we shall have our revenge. Then, to make an example of this, we shall obliterate the Renais Army and every noble blood in it. That would mean four kingdoms would be left without any rulers."

**

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**"Lute, I don't know what you have against Kayll, but it must stop now." He began calmly, placing his elbows on the desk. 

"What _I_ have against her? I think it's the other way around!" Lute exclaimed, feeling a rush of anger.

Ephraim looked at her evenly. "I do hope this is something bigger than boyfriend stealing. I honestly don't have time, especially now, to deal with that kind of pettiness."

Lute took a breath and released her surplus of rage in the exhale. "Prince Ephraim, I believe there is something more. I'm not sure what it is yet, but I believe Kayll can make certain . . . impressions upon people. On our way back to camp, Kayll seemed cold and indifferent . . . but only to me. Ewan, Saleh, Kyle, and Colm didn't seem to have a problem with her. Neither does Artur. In fact, he seems rather taken with her. Do you know what he said to me this morning? Do you?!"

Of course, Ephraim didn't know. He could see she was fit to burst and tried to approach this festering wound gently. "No, Lute, I don't know what he told you. You could tell me."

"He said I didn't need him and that he's come to terms with that! He said I didn't need to pretend for him!" she exclaimed. "Now, tell me, does that sound at all like Artur? Does it?!"

He sighed softly. "Lute . . . maybe what he says is true. I mean no offense, but you weren't exactly clear with him about what you wanted. He could have easily misread you and came to that conclusion. That doesn't mean Kayll has . . . influenced him in any way."

"But she has!" Lute insisted, rising to her feet. "He only acted like that _after_ Kayll came! _After_ he first saw her! She's brainwashed him!"

"How?" he asked quietly.

"She—" Her expression became doubtful. "She—she . . ." Lute huffed out a breath and plopped down on the chair. "All right, I _don't_ know how—but she had to have! How else to you explain the drastic change in him?"

Ephraim regarded her carefully. She was in love, there was no doubt. She was protective of Artur, also no doubt in his mind about that. She obviously saw Kayll as a threat and therefore had intense hostility towards her. Artur, the poor young man, had no clue what was going on. He too had been infatuated. But perhaps he had grown weary of waiting and simply sought a reasonable solution. He had most likely chosen to forget about his previous besotted feelings and secluded his heart. There was innocence in his curiosity over the newcomer. Certainly it wouldn't develop into anything more than that. Ephraim wryly wondered why he seemed to play matchmaker more often than his sister.

"Lute, I think you should talk to Artur about this." He suggested. "There has been, quite obviously, much miscommunication. The only way to resolve that is to have everything out in the open. I can send for him and we can talk this through. Then, maybe, just maybe, we can have some peace of mind and focus on the important matters."

Lute's face became blank and she rose from her chair. "Oh, no, that's quite all right. You have a lot to figure out in a short amount of time, and I should probably meet up with the battle-ready team." She tried to make a break for the tent entrance.

"Lute. Sit. Down. Now." He said firmly in clipped tones.

She returned meekly to her seat and fiddled with her sleeve. "You really don't have to do this." She said quietly.

He sighed tiredly. "No, I probably don't, but I will. For the sake of the army and my own peace of mind, I will."

**

* * *

**Ewan was passing by the prince's tent in hopes of meeting up with Master Saleh. He wanted to prove to him that he was just fine and didn't need the excessive concern his teacher seemed to force upon him. Instead, he heard Kayll before he saw her. Frankly, he was surprised. Since when did Kayll mutter aloud to herself? Or curse obscenities about Prince Ephraim under her breath? Or fume her anger—which he hadn't thought she possessed—in a verbal form? Or—there was a lot Ewan hadn't thought Kayll was capable of. 

She was pacing in a secluded area between the tents, kicking at the dirt, a glare in her fiery eyes, fists clenched tight at her side. Her lips were moving rapidly and he could hear the muttering that spewed from her mouth. Except, there was one thing off about the whole scene other than the obvious. Ewan didn't think she was talking in a known language.

"Hello Kayll." He greeted as he approached.

Her mutterings immediately halted. Her back stiffened and she turned to him with a smoothed over face. "Oh, hello Ewan. I didn't notice you there."

He smiled at her crookedly with one raised brow. "Maybe because you were talking to yourself?" he suggested. "You know, they say that talking to oneself is one of the signs of insanity."

Her brows lifted slightly. "Oh, really? And where did you hear that?" she asked coolly.

He shrugged. "Oh, you know, around." He answered noncommittally. "What are you doing besides talking to yourself? Or don't you have anything to do other than entertain the voices in your head?" He chuckled to show he didn't mean any harm.

"Nothing. The voices in my head are very interesting, I'll have you know." There was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. Ewan could've sworn it was a small, miniscule, teeny-tiny smile. But that couldn't have been right. "And what are you doing besides creeping up on unsuspecting insane people?" she asked with a pointed look.

He regarded her warily. "Are you actually joking with me?" he said with evident disbelief and suspicion.

"No, I'm being completely serious with you."

"Oh, a little sarcastic, are we?" He grinned. "I didn't know you had it in you, Kayll. Here I'm thinking you're all gloom-and-doom, a frigid north wind, a block of ice, stern, silent almost to the point of scary."

She sniffed in an offended way. "Well, perhaps you don't know me as well as you though you did." With that she turned on her heel and stalked away from him.

One brow shot up in surprise. "I guess I didn't." he murmured to himself.

Ewan hurried after her. He walked backwards in front of her, trying to slow her escape. "Hey, whoa, wait a second. Did I actually offend you?" he asked with incredulity.

"What if you did?" she asked back coldly. "It wouldn't matter right? Because it all comes down to trust. And, apparently, when no one trusts you, they'll sit on their bottoms while their fellows are murdered."

"What?!" he exclaimed, stopping completely. "What are you talking about?!"

Kayll edged around him. "Nothing of concern!" she called back.

He ran after her again. "Wait!" he shouted. "Here I am, thinking I've broken the ice and are making you actually _talk_, and then you stomp away as Miss Gloom-and-Doom again. Do you have multiple personalities, by any chance? 'Cause, Lute told me you were actually _friendly_ with Artur. I thought you told me you'd never change, not even for the sake of friendship. So what's this I hear about you being _friendly_ with people?"

She stopped and looked him coldly in the eye. Ewan suppressed a shudder. "Simpletons cannot think beyond what they see first." Her ruby eyes were flinty and utterly void of emotion. Her face was tight with something that looked like disgust. And her hair fell around her in just the right way to give her an air of cold venom.

"S—So, it isn't true?" Ewan stammered out, feeling like he had been standing in several feet of snow. "Lute was wrong?"

Instead of answering him, she drew in a breath and looked at him calmly. "Do you trust me, Ewan?" Kayll asked quietly. He almost would have considered her tone soft. But she was about as soft as a bed of icicles.

"I . . . well . . . I—yeah, I do." He stuttered, certain that he had frostbite.

"You're a fool, Ewan." She whispered to him with an intense, narrowed look. She shoved past him, knocking her shoulder against his roughly. The contact sent a ripple through him and he felt cold. He had a sudden urge to sulk in his tent and forget her, but he muscled his way past it. He had no idea where the thought had come from. It certainly wasn't anything that he would do. Ewan shook his head as if to clear it of the strange idea. Then he ran after her again.

"Why do you say that?" he called to her as she rounded a corner.

But she didn't reply. He had a weird sense of déjà vu.

"Kayll!" he shouted after her. "Why would you say something like that? There must be a reason! Kayll!" He grabbed her arm. Again he felt an odd wave of depressing emotion sweep through him. He almost gasped from its intensity. For a moment he felt utterly and completely hopeless, as if he was drained of happiness. Again he pushed past it, but this time is seemed harder.

She turned to him, an almost sorrowful—regretful—look on her face. "I'm sorry Ewan." She said, sounding surprisingly sincere.

"What—?" But he didn't finish for darkness swooped down upon him and swept him away in its cold current.

**

* * *

**"Prince Ephraim, what is this all about?" Artur asked as he entered the tent, a puzzled expression on his face. 

"Please sit down, Artur." Ephraim replied, gesturing to the seat beside Lute. He rubbed his temples for a moment. Perhaps he should set up his own counseling for couples. "Lute, would you like to begin?"

"Me?" Her eyes widened. "What am I supposed to say?"

Ephraim waved his hand vaguely. "Anything. Or, how about you start at the beginning."

"Which would be . . . ?"

"How you feel . . . ?" Ephraim prompted.

Lute's expression hardened. "I'm sorry, Prince, but this simply isn't how I handle things." She said firmly.

"Then how do you handle things?" Ephraim asked exasperatedly.

"On my own." With that Lute stood and nodded to him. She walked out of the tent without a backward glance. The tent was silent for a long moment before being broken by Ephraim's weary sigh.

"I shouldn't have to deal with this." He groaned as he dropped his head into his hands. "A prince isn't meant to be everyone's therapist."

"Therapist?" Artur echoed confusedly. "Prince, what is this about? I'm afraid I'm lost."

"There's been a major . . . miscommunication. Lute has conflicting emotions about you and herself." Ephraim looked over at him. "Artur, do you realize what is going on here?"

The copper haired sage slowly shook his head. "No, Prince Ephraim, I don't."

"Not even a slim idea about what happened or has happened?"

"No . . ."

Ephraim released an exasperated sigh that sounded more like a groan. "I'm not cut out for this." He muttered under his breath while clutching at his head.

"Sire . . . ?"

The Prince collected himself and straightened in his chair. "Artur, what do you think about Lute? What do you feel about her?"

"About Lute?"

"Yes. About Lute. What do you feel towards her?" Ephraim repeated, growing a bit annoyed.

Artur gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Prince, but are you asking me if I love her?"

"More or less, yes, I am."

"Oh," His expression grew uncertain. He was quiet for several minutes. Ephraim wondered what inner struggle he was fighting, his irritation soon forgotten. The sage met his gaze. "I don't think I do, Prince Ephraim."

"You 'don't think you do'? It's a yes or no answer, Artur." He replied gently.

Artur bit his bottom lip and shook his head. "No, Prince Ephraim. I don't love her."

**

* * *

**She saw his eyes roll back and quickly caught him before he fell to the ground. "I _am_ sorry, Ewan. I didn't want to do this." Kayll whispered to his unconscious form. She hauled one arm over her shoulders and dragged him towards the medical tent. Fortunately, she didn't meet anyone on the way there, Saleh in particular. She saw his eyes roll back and quickly caught him before he fell to the ground. "I sorry, Ewan. I didn't want to do this." Kayll whispered to his unconscious form. She hauled one arm over her shoulders and dragged him towards the medical tent. Fortunately, she didn't meet anyone on the way there, Saleh in particular. 

_Too close, Ewan. As much as I want allies, you're too close. You're a tricky one to deal with. You both listen to your heart and think with a level head. _

She glanced down at his scarlet head as it bumped against her shoulder as she walked. Her mouth curved into a slight frown.

_What I told you was true. I can't change who I am. I know you want more than I'd ever be willing to give. I came here to give unfortunate, ignorant humans a warning, a lending hand. I didn't come here to make friends._

Kayll entered the medical tent and drew Moulder's attention. The priest frowned, helping her bear the young man's weight. Together they carried him to a cot.

"What happened to him?" Moulder asked as they settled him upon the small and simple makeshift bed.

"He tired himself out while practicing his magic. Apparently he hasn't fully recovered from his ordeal a week back." Kayll lied.

"Ah," the priest nodded in full understanding. "Eager young pup."

_I need allies that will give me what I need: support and sway over other's doubts. You're eager to give that and more without my persuasion. But you wouldn't be the same as the others. They would side wholeheartedly with me no matter the circumstances. You would still have free will. A choice, despite your strong convictions. That's a danger to me. _

"I think he'll be fine with a little rest." Moulder told her. "He's done this before. He rushes out, in spite of the consequences, and exhausts himself to the point of unconsciousness. I can't remember how many times Master Saleh has carried him in here." The older man shakes his head with mild amusement.

_I don't have time to let everyone trust me of their own accord. It's easier this way. But . . . I don't want to take away your image of me. I don't want to replace that image with another one that will force you to see me as I want you to. What you see is the truth, completely and wholly. _

"You can stay as long as you want." Moulder continued. "I don't know when he'll be around. It might be a few hours or maybe even a day or two. I had better tell Saleh what his former student has gotten himself into. He'll be vexed if he finds out by another means. Of course, Master Saleh isn't a violent man. Quite the opposite, I believe. But he'll be upset all the same."

_And truth as pure as what you see—created by your own will without any outside influences—shouldn't be taken away. Despite my seemingly selfless attempts to save you and your companions, I'm selfish nevertheless. I want to cling to the truth, regardless of its repulsiveness. And the only way I can keep the truth is to keep you unblemished by my sway. But keeping you untouched will jeopardize my chances. I face a dilemma that I can't find the answer to._

"I'm going to find Saleh. The tent will be unmanned while I'm gone. Can you keep things under control while I'm away? I don't expect anything to happen, but if something _does_ happen, can you try to find me so I may take care of it?" Moulder asked. "I could tell you hundreds of stories about practice mishaps. But I won't; I have to find Saleh, all right?"

Kayll nodded absently, not really hearing everything he had said. She watched him leave the tent. Kayll glanced around to find two people at the other end of the tent talking quietly. She ignored them. They weren't bothering her. She sat on an adjacent cot and watched Ewan silently. His chest rose gently, taking full, relaxed breaths. His innocent boyish face was completely void of any concern whatsoever. Ewan's crimson bangs hung over a braided leather headband she hadn't noticed before.

_All right, I admit it; you've gotten under my guard. I didn't expect to find someone so . . . open, so honest, and so selfless. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't you. Needless to say you startled me. You looked so young when I found you on the plain. But I see I was wrong. You're wiser in ways I can't fathom—and I being near your age. Some may say you're just an "eager young pup", but they're wrong. Some may feel an excessive protectiveness around you, believing you can't take care of yourself, but they're wrong. Some may think you're a curious pest, but they're wrong._

Out of her own curiosity, she lifted one side of his tunic. His side was unmarred and smooth as if there had never been a stab wound. She smirked. Undoubtedly the priest and whoever had noticed had found her primitive methods repulsive.

_Try sewing rotting flesh and you'll see how repulsive it really is. _She thought grimly with a small shake of her head. She sat back on her cot and wondered how long it would take for Saleh to storm into the tent.

_You're untainted, Ewan. In spite of the horrors you experienced in the War of the Stones, you haven't been touched by them. I hope you stay that way, innocent and pure. When you're tainted, you don't have hope for yourself. Being hopeless is something I never want you to experience. Trust me on this and only this._

With that Kayll stood, looking down at Ewan. She stood there a moment and then walked out of the tent wordlessly, not even glancing back.

* * *

**A/N: **Hee. A little taste of the real Kayll. What do you think? She'll eventually reveal her true self through a few chapters. And uh-oh. Artur _what_ are you _thinking?!_ But please don't hurt him in your reviews, okay? He's a fictional character that doesn't deserve to be beaten up by angry readers. I'll be posting a list of the fiends' names, rank, etc. so you don't get lost. Thanks. Now please review! 


	22. Standing Alone

**A/N: **Hello faithful readers! My, my, hasn't the week flown by? Hee, I _so_ did not mean to rhyme there. Anyway, this is my longest chapter in this particular fic so far. Eek. I think I had better tone it down a notch. Wouldn't want anyone running for the hills, right? Well, enjoy and review!

**Disclaimer: **This thing _really_ has to go. (makes a vain attempt to remove Disclaimer from screen) (glares) Fine, never mind. I guess it has to stay. It's only there to mock me, isn't it? (exasperated sigh)

* * *

**22) Standing Alone**

Artur stepped out of the tent with a thoughtful frown. Ephraim had been very vague. He wondered what Lute and he had been talking about. It seemed . . . heated at the least. And that odd question about him loving Lute—where had that come from? It was an absurd inquiry. Him? Love Lute? He honestly couldn't see them together as a couple.

Artur shook his head. He would forget about it for now. He hadn't walked far from the tent when Ephraim exited behind him. Curious, Artur approached him.

"What are you doing now, Prince?" he asked, drawing up beside him.

Ephraim looked over at him with mild surprise. "I'm going to see Cormag off. I have another mission for him, shall we say. He's going to look for Gerik and his mercenaries. Innes is writing up a letter for Gerik as we speak. I'll stop by and pick it up from his tent and then I'm going to look for Cormag."

"Ah," Artur nodded. "Would you mind if I came along? To see him off?"

Ephraim shrugged undiplomatically. "If you wish."

Taking the letter from Innes was interesting to observe, if one knew what to look for. Artur knew of the infamous rivalry and this little encounter only backed all of the stories of competition. The gray haired prince scowled, the frown a rough slash across his face. His silver eyes sparked with challenge, daring Ephraim to make a move. The Frelian prince held the document in a position that didn't suggest he was going to give it up easily. Ephraim, completely ignoring the subtle challenges, took the parchment from Innes's grasp with a firm tug.

"Thank you, Innes." Ephraim said with a bright smile.

"My pleasure, Ephraim." Innes replied tightly.

Ephraim walked away and Artur followed after. They found Cormag on the perimeter of camp in a clear, hill-less area. He was tending to his wyvern, Genarog, with a coarse brush that seemed to please the wyvern. Genarog lay with his wings stretched out, basking in the sun, eyes drooping lazily. Cormag straightened when he saw Ephraim approaching.

"Good afternoon, Prince." He greeted with a nod. "Artur."

Artur smiled back. "Would you mind if I brush him while Prince Ephraim attends to business?" he asked.

"Of course not." He replied, handing the bristled brush to him. "Business, Prince Ephraim?"

Artur slipped his hand under the band of stiff leather on the back of the brush and approached the great wyvern. "Hello, Genarog. Remember me?"

The wyvern cracked open one eye and snorted mightily. Taking that as an affirmation, Artur scrubbed Genarog's scaly hide firmly as Cormag had shone him once before. The wyvern rumbled in pleasure, closing his eyes again. Artur listened absently as Prince Ephraim talked to Cormag, discussing what the wyvern lord would do on his new errand. Genarog rolled to one side, allowing Artur to reach a spot at his lower back. The wyvern seemed to hum. That was different. Artur had never heard Genarog hum before.

"I believe Genarog adores your attention." Cormag said from behind him suddenly, causing Artur to start slightly.

"Finished with business already?" he asked giving him a quick glance.

Cormag stood behind him with his arms crossed, his face stolid. He nodded, watching Artur's strokes. "Here, he likes it best between his wings."

The wyvern lord shifted Artur's hand to a tough spot at the junction of Genarog's wings. The wyvern reacted immediately, stretching out his head, his humming increasing dramatically. His ivory talons dug into the ground, creating furrows where his claws kneaded the dirt. Genarog tensed his entire body, holding himself ramrod straight and then suddenly relaxed, sinking into the grass, humming all the while.

Cormag pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He's never reacted like with anyone else." He raised one brow. "It appears you're now one of his favorites, Artur."

The copper haired young man only smiled unsteadily, his concentration poured into the task. Rubbing down a wyvern wasn't as easy as it appeared. Sweat was already trickling down his temples. He paused a moment to cast aside his robes, leaving himself in an off-white tunic and plain trousers.

"When are you leaving?" Artur panted out.

Cormag watched him a moment more before speaking. "Try his wings, but more gently." He directed.

Artur obeyed, taking care with the seemingly fragile leathery, membranous wings. In response, the wyvern stretched out his wing to allow Artur access to every contour and bony ridge.

"I'll be leaving in a short while." Cormag answered.

"Oh, in that case, I won't keep you." Artur said, beginning to straighten.

"No, that's fine." He shook his head slightly. "Genarog needs this massage to prepare himself for the flight ahead and you're clearly enjoying it if he isn't."

"Well, I'm honored he finds me so appealing."

"You should be. Most people find themselves inches from getting their hands bitten off." Cormag replied.

"Ah, yes. You warned me the first few times we met." Artur remembered with an uneasy smile. He had never been so nervous. He could have gotten his hand bitten off!

"They say wyverns are good judges of character and I believe it." Cormag commented while rubbing his knuckles across Genarog's forehead.

Artur smiled secretly to himself. That was as close to "You're a good friend" as Cormag would ever get. But his grin slowly faded. He didn't feel like any kind of friend. Not after the way he treated Lute. Well, he hadn't _meant_ to do what he did—whatever that had been. He still didn't know what had set Lute off, but clearly it was something he had done.

"What's on your mind?" Cormag asked from the other side of Genarog, another bristled brush in his hands.

"Huh?"

Cormag worked on his wyvern's wing diligently but with softness that was uncharacteristic of him. "Your rhythm slowed. You're not focusing; something else is taking your concentration. What would that be?"

Artur picked up the pace, moving on to the middle of Genarog's back. "It's . . ." he sighed. "Nothing."

Cormag stopped and leaned against Genarog to look down at Artur. He arched one brow at him. "It must be something to distract you. You aren't known to let trivial matters divert you from any task."

"Perhaps that reputation is . . . based on previous statistics that have changed." Artur replied, not able to face Cormag's penetrating gaze. When awkward minutes stretched and Cormag didn't resume his work, Artur finally glanced up at the fair-haired former Grado general. He swallowed nervously. Cormag looked just as he did on the battlefield all those months ago, when he had first gazed upon Artur as an enemy.

"Go on."

"Ah . . . with what?" Artur asked dumbly, stroking Genarog halfheartedly.

"Tell me what this 'nothing' is. I can't let you go onto the battlefield with you head as splintered as it is." He said simply.

"I appreciate your concern, but—"

"Concern? Who said anything about concern?" Cormag shook his head. "It's folly to step on a battleground with your focus cleaved in half. I wouldn't care if it was the general or a common foot soldier, I wouldn't let him go out there. Needless sacrifice is simply stupid."

"Oh," _I've just been stepping on everyone's toes lately, haven't I?_ But Cormag was just that way. Artur didn't really take to heart some of what the aloof knight said. But that didn't mean he didn't have good advice. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so absentminded, it's just—" He sighed again, shaking his head.

"Trouble with Lute?"

"What?! Does the whole of Magvel know about my love troubles?!" Artur burst out.

Cormag smirked and set to work again. "No, just to those who can observe and read people. I wouldn't say the whole camp knows, but I imagine most of the senior soldiers have an idea."

"Brilliant," he muttered.

Cormag chuckled quietly. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I have no idea!" he exclaimed, waving his arms wildly to demonstrate his confusion.

"Surely you must have some inkling."

"Well . . . no, I don't. It's so odd. One minute I was head-over-heels and the next . . . I didn't really care whether or not she loved me back." He shrugged and scrubbed the base of Genarog's tail, causing the wyvern to arch his back like a cat would. Artur stood on the tips of his toes to reach him.

Cormag pressed a spot near his wyvern's ribs. "Down, Genarog," he commanded. The wyvern obeyed, snorting once at his lord with displeasure. "That doesn't sound normal, Artur. You can't drop something like a stone when you're obsessed with it."

"I'm not obsessed—"

"Well, obviously not now. How quickly did this . . . change occur? Surely not overnight?"

"No, it was sooner than that." Artur answered, thinking back.

"Sooner?" Cormag echoed with some surprise. "Artur, that's not normal, not by itself. Was there any . . . intervention? Something had to alter your thinking."

He paused. ". . . No . . ." He gave a small smile. "I would like to think that I've simply moved on."

Cormag's expression was empty, but firm. "And has Lute?"

Artur blinked. "Well, I don't think any 'moving on' needed to take place. She never loved me from the start."

Cormag stared at him. "How can you be so certain? Do you know her mind and her heart?"

"Well . . . no . . ." he mumbled out, feeling like an abashed pupil.

"Don't assume, Artur, it will only make a fool out of you." Cormag warned as he took both brushes and packed them away in the saddle sitting on the ground a few feet away.

Artur retrieved his outer garment and slipped into it. "Do you have experience with that?"

"I assumed Princess Eirika was my brother's murderer. How more wrong could I possibly be?" Cormag pointed out, hauling the saddle onto Genarog's back. At his signal, the wyvern stood to allow Cormag access to the girth and leather strapping.

"Well, you're right about that, but . . ."

"Why couldn't you be wrong about Lute?" Cormag asked as he loaded his Killing Lance into the saddle sheath and strapped on his sword.

"I suppose your right and I could be wrong . . ."

"Suppose, assume, they're all the same. They don't necessarily mean something is written in stone." He continued while checking straps and fastenings.

Artur furrowed his brow with confusion. "Wait, what are you trying to tell me? That I'm wrong about Lute or that I'm wrong about being wrong about Lute?" He blinked. "Does that even make sense?!"

Cormag grabbed the saddle horn and placed his foot in the stirrup, swinging into the saddle effortlessly. "It makes sense." He assured the confused young man. "What I mean to say is, don't assume or suppose anything. Change is the nature of life. Nothing is set in stone forever."

Artur tilted his head to the side. "Why don't you use a bridle?"

"What?" It was now the wyvern lord's turn to be confused. His expression cleared when he realized that Artur had moved onto another topic. "Well, it isn't like Genarog will fly off on me. I trust him and he in turn trusts me. Besides, reins occupy the hands. I need to have my hands free to fight efficiently. He understands signals with my feet just as well as signals with reins. What's more, he doesn't like the feel of a bit on his tongue, not even the gentlest snaffle bit." He shrugs. "I suppose wyverns weren't meant to be fully broken."

Artur frowned. "Okay, what do you mean by that? 'Suppose'? Advice could be better understood if it were spoken plainly." He backed up as Genarog shifted his feet, flapping his wings experimentally.

"I never said it was true, did I? That's my own opinion." Cormag replied as he tightened the leather fastenings over his legs to prevent him from falling. "Farewell, Artur. I hope your troubles are resolved. Had I time, I would warn Prince Ephraim of your wandering attention, but I don't. I can only hope you'll be wise and stay out of any skirmishes until you are able to focus." Genarog tensed his back legs and Artur backed up farther just to be safe. He didn't want those monstrously large wings clipping him on the way up.

"You be just as careful, Cormag." Artur called to him.

"Don't worry about me, worry about yourself!" Cormag called back as Genarog launched himself into the air.

Artur stood watching them as they disappeared into the distance. When he could no longer see them, he sank to the grass, lying back with a sigh. He had to confront Lute and ask her what she really felt. He shouldn't have assumed he knew what she really felt.

* * *

Three days came and went quickly for Lute. She practiced with the battle-ready team, creating strategies and plans where they could all work together efficiently. They made up dozens of scenarios and situations, solving each one before moving on to anything else. That afternoon Innes had challenged her to a contest. The one who hit the most targets won. Lute wasn't into the whole competitive theme, but she used that opportunity to her advantage. During that contest, Lute struck up a conversation that wasn't all that surprising. 

"Prince Innes, what do you think of Kayll?"

"Her?" He snorted contemptuously. "A more annoying soldier there couldn't be found." He drew an arrow from his quiver, knocked it, and set an anchoring point. "Ready, Lute?"

She held her book of Fire, the words on the tip of her tongue. "Ready."

"Three . . . Two . . . One!"

The bolt from Nidhogg raced to its target alongside the burst of Fire. Both struck their target at the same time. Innes's stump of wood rocked back and forth, but stayed upright, an arrow at its center. Lute's target burned steadily, reducing the wood to blackened timber.

"I'd call that a draw, Prince Innes." Lute said, studying both targets. "I do wonder what her intentions are. Is she trying to rattle us? Or find a spot of glory in this whole mess to tell her village friends about? I also wonder what lies she told Prince Ephraim."

"It's probably nothing important." Innes replied, signaling to the volunteers to replace the targets for another round. "And I couldn't care less what her purpose is. She's annoying, in the way, and only succeeds in boiling our blood. If I were Ephraim, I'd throw her out on her rear. Good riddance!"

Lute smirked. "I thought you might say something like that. But aren't you in the least bit curious why she's here? I seriously doubt anything she says is the truth, but . . . why would she come here?"

Innes knocked another arrow, but didn't draw back the string. "I wouldn't know. I'm a strategist, not a psychologist. But I would have to say she grew interested in where Ewan came from and, seeing a way into glory and fame, followed him. Now she's spitting nonsense at us to keep her here."

Lute furrowed her brows thoughtfully. "If that were the case, wouldn't she try to appeal to us, not rebel against our decisions?"

Innes frowned and rested Nidhogg against his hip. "Yes, she would. So maybe that's not the case." He replied, resuming an anchoring point again and looked pointedly at Lute. "Ready?"

"When you are." Lute held up her tome.

"Three . . . Two . . . One!"

The shots were released, but this time Innes's bolt thudded into the wood a second or two before her Fire did. But neither seemed too concerned about their so-called contest.

"One more point for me." Innes muttered.

"So, if that's not the case, then what is?" Lute asked, closing her book absently.

He shook his head. "As much as I don't want to admit it, I don't have a clue. All I know is that there is something definitely wrong about her."

"Good, I'm not the only one." Lute muttered.

"Well, I can't say the same about Kayll being responsible for Artur's 'change' in personality." Innes added.

Lute shrugged. "That's fine as long as I have someone on my side. I'm sure she's hiding something from all of us. I propose we try to expose her and show them she's not at all worthy of being trusted."

Innes raised a brow at her. "Are we talking about blackmail?"

Lute leered. "Something along those lines."

"I'm listening."

* * *

Evening was settling in quickly and Kayll found herself alone. Everyone was gathering around fires, picking at the slop they called food, murmuring the latest details of their day or stories from before the war. Kayll watched them enviously. The soldiers here were like a big family. They were laughing and joking together. A few were huddled close, secretly holding hands and leaning against one another. Some were flinging pieces of gooey food particles at each other, giggling and squealing. 

_That's what a family looks like, Kayll. Enjoy your observation while it lasts. That's as close to a family as you'll ever get._ She thought to herself bitterly, hugging herself as if she were cold.

She shook her head and turned away. Kayll left her spot many feet from the gathering and walked out of camp. She could still hear them laughing and howling even when she was far away. She chose a lonely tree to sit beside. Kayll leaned against its rough bark and fingered the blades of grass.

_Family. I don't even remember mine . . . if I had one. I've always been with . . . them for as long as I can remember. But that's not very long when I think about it. And they were as far from family as you can get. I would have felt more at home in an empty house than with them._

She plucked the grass and began weaving the individual blades into a chain. She did this unconsciously, not realizing what she was doing until the coarse blades scratched at her skin. Kayll glanced down at her hands with surprise. She had formed a chain long enough to encompass her wrist. She slipped it around her wrist and finished one-handedly with a knot. It was a craft she hadn't known she possessed. The place she considered her origin never had grass long enough to do anything with. Maybe it was something from her past. Maybe her mother had taught her to weave grass bracelets when she was a little girl. Maybe she shared these simple gifts with her friends.

_And maybe this is all just a bad dream._ She added sourly, tracing the tiny braids of the bracelet with one finger. She sighed and looked up at the tree branches looming over her. She closed her eyes.

_She would have lilac colored hair and silvery eyes. Her smile would be brighter and warmer than the sun. She would be the local florist and help me with my school work. She would tuck me into bed even after I got older and grew annoyed with it. But I would secretly enjoy it. She would take the long way home just to show me the flowers growing in the field. She would laugh with me over every silly little thing. She would bake in the afternoon and sing sweeter than the birds._

_And he would have deep blue hair and bright aqua eyes. He would be steady and board shouldered. He would work as a carpenter, maybe even a retired knight. He would take me walking in the mornings to see the world wake up. He would encourage me to follow my dreams and never pressure me. He would be protective of his family. He would be the guardian and I'd never feel afraid with him around. He would be there with a soothing word to dispel my nightmares. He would never let me down. He would have large hands that I would always feel safe in._

Her dream family. She had made them upyears ago. Sometimes she would change them to suit her mood or her location. She had traveled quite a bit with the fiends. Sometimes she would add a little sister who idolized her or an older brother who teased her mercilessly, but loved her dearly. Often enough she would expand her family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, they all appeared at some point in time. She would pretend that reality was a dream and her dreams were reality. It was a quick way to escape the here and now—especially when it became too violent towards her.

_But, no. I have no one. I stand alone just like this tree stands alone as it reaches for the sky. And like this tree, I'll never reach the sky. While others can fly on the wings of their dreams, I am rooted to the ground. I've always been alone—as far as I can remember—and tonight is no different. They will eventually drift off into slumber while I observe them from afar. When they do sleep so peacefully in their tents, I will envy them and I will stand awake and alone as ever. But I have grown accustomed to this; the loneliness no longer stings so badly._

Kayll opened her eyes when she heard footsteps approaching. She stood quickly and hoisted herself up onto the lowest tree limb. She climbed a few more branches up without making a sound and crouched quietly among the leaves. She peered down and saw Ewan glancing about, circling the tree.

"That's funny." He mumbled. "I could have sworn I saw someone over here."

He circled the tree again and Kayll followed his movements with her eyes. He stopped directly beneath her and crossed his arms.

_Humans,_ she thought with disgust. _They never look up._

Instead of walking away as she had hoped he would, Ewan sat down against the tree and . . . looked up. He narrowed his eyes to focus his vision. Kayll breathed very shallowly, staying completely still. That was the secret to remaining undiscovered. Don't move. Ewan stared directly at her without seeing her for several moments. To her dismay her legs were growing numb and quivering from their long-held stance. Ewan's eyes suddenly widened. He yelped and leapt to his feet. As soon as he moved Kayll shifted her legs while hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Kayll?!"

There was no such luck.

"Kayll? . . . Why are you in a tree?" he asked curiously. Ewan stood beneath her again and raised one eyebrow at her.

"I'm playing seek-the-hider. Congratulations, you found me." she said with a deadpan tone. With a sigh she leapt down from her perch and landed neatly on the ground.

"What are you doing out here, so far from camp?"

"What are you doing out here, trying to find me?"

"I asked first."

Kayll rolled her eyes. "I didn't want to be found. There, happy now?"

"Yes, well, no. Why didn't you want to be found?"

She frowned. "Who are you, my mother?" She walked around the tree in a vain attempt to escape him. "I like being alone." She said as an answer.

"But . . . why? Doesn't it get . . . lonely?"

She smirked. "That's the point of being alone. I like my privacy. I like being lonely. It lets me know I'm in charge of my own life. No one is there to influence me or to get in my way."

"You sound like a hermit." It was said with a smile, meant to be a tease. "But no one is ever truly alone." He pointed out, becoming serious again.

"Yes, you're proving that very nicely."

"Don't you ever feel the need for human companionship?" he asked.

"No." she said sharply, perhaps a little too sharply. She ducked around the other side of the tree, but he followed. Kayll, in a last resort, climbed into the tree.

"I think you do." He said slowly, looking up at her.

"Well, I don't. It's an absurd thing to want. It allows room for vulnerability." She replied with a scowl. She climbed further into the tree. When she looked down, she couldn't see much of Ewan for her view was obscured by the leaves.

"So, that's it? You're afraid of being hurt by someone you trust?" Ewan asked.

"No. I'm not afraid of pain, Ewan. Vulnerability is a trap, no matter the situation. I vowed to myself I would never be vulnerable again a long time ago." She clarified. She ascended a few more branches.

"You must become lonely sometimes. It's only human nature to not want to be alone. What do you do then?"

"Ewan, your questions are absurd. What do you care if I am lonely or not? I happen to _like_ being alone." _Can't he take a hint?!_

"I care." He sounded sincere. "I care more than you may realize. No one should be lonely. Not even you, whether you like it or not."

"As reasonable as that may sound, it's not true. There are hundreds of lonely people everyday. I know your intentions are good, but you can't give everyone companionship. So, please, don't try." Kayll advanced toward the treetop, careful not to step on the weak and flimsy limbs.

"I know that I can't change everyone, but . . . I can try. I can start with you." he offered, sounding hopeful but restrained like he wasn't trying to push anything onto her.

"Ewan, I told you before. I'm not the friend type. I like being alone, solitary, without friends. I don't _want_ a friend. What do I have to do to get it through your thick head?" she said with strained patience.

She breached the final layer of branches and leaves. Clinging to the only sturdy branch, she looked up into the night sky. She gasped. The black sky had parted to reveal a blood-red moon. She knew what that meant. She knew what would happen tonight; it was written there plainly in the sky. She had to warn them. She was their only hope. She had to tell Ephraim.

Kayll scrambled back down the tree. In her haste she slipped and fell a few feet. Weak branches cracked beneath her as she tumbled down. Reaching out, she grabbed onto a thick branch and hung there for a breathless second. Then, slowly, she made her way back to the bottom.

"Kayll? What happened? I heard crashing." Ewan then began to inspect her for injury.

"I fell." She said shortly, stepping away from him. "Now, come on! I need to warn Ephraim!"

"Warn Ephraim?" Ewan looked up at her confusedly. "About what? Kayll! Wait up!"

* * *

The campfire had been doused and most of the soldiers were already asleep. Lute had tried to venture into the Land of Dreams, but tonight it didn't seem possible. With a sigh, she shoved back her blankets and yanked on her boots. She donned her cloak and stepped out of her tent. She yawned, a bit annoyed that she could yawn but not fall asleep. What kind of logic was that anyway? 

She trudged through camp, finding most tents dark and silent. There was only a few soft glows from a few tents, telling her that their inhabitants were either reading or doing some late-night polishing on their armor. The insects were singing softly in their chirping way. She looked up at the sky, hoping to find a few constellations she could name. She didn't find stars. Instead, she found a peculiar crimson moon hanging in the sky. There was something at the back of her mind nagging at her about such a symbol, but she couldn't remember it. A red moon meant something of significance in one culture or another.

Lute shrugged. Ah, it didn't matter. She walked absently to the edge of camp and stood there for a moment. She wondered if she should venture too far at this time of night. Who was on guard again? Lute thought it might be Kyle and Forde. She finally decided to walk around camp instead of venture out in the dead of night.

It was a relaxing little stroll. It was doing just what she wanted it to. It was making her tired. Maybe she'd be able to sleep now. She saw Kyle astride his horse a few yards ahead. Maybe she'd talk to him for a short time and then wander back to her tent.

A low growl distracted her. She swung around and saw the red fur, eerily illuminated in the red moon's light, flash before her. She realized with a sickening jolt that she was unarmed.

_You great, stupid dolt! How could you forget your tome?_

The mauthe doog came to an abrupt stop. The demonic hound stared her with black orbs that swallowed the whites of its eyes. Lute noticed it held something in its mouth. Was that a piece of wood? A rush of brown and evergreen filled her peripheral vision. Kyle thrust out with his lance and stabbed the fiend in the side. It yelped and dropped whatever it had been carrying. The hellhound whirled to face Kyle, bleeding profusely from the wound in its side. It growled and launched an attack at the cavalier with flashing fangs. Kyle braced himself, jabbing forward with his lance. The fiend caught itself on the weapon, the steel head of the spear driving cleanly through its throat. With a keening whine, it disintegrated into dust.

Kyle looked over at Lute. "Are you all right, Lute?" he asked, sounding quite calm.

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I am unharmed." She shook her head. "If only I'd had my tome with me. I'm sorry to cause you trouble, Kyle."

He smiled tightly. "It was no trouble. This is my job after all."

"Right." Lute noticed the piece of wood the mauthe doog had been carrying hadn't dissolved to dust. She reached down and picked it up. "What's this . . . ?" She trailed off as she saw the wood contained the now familiar slanting characters of the Voice of the Dead.

* * *

**A/N: **Mwahaha! A cliffie! Oh, I love cliffies! Aren't I evil? Well, there you have it. The next chapter is definitely going to be action packed. I know you all want to smack Artur up-side the head, but please don't hurt him. He's...trying. Okay? Why don't you ponder on Kayll's odd passive-agressive disorder instead of beating the crap out of Artur, huh? Drop a review please! 


	23. The Dark of Night

**A/N: **Well, this chaper is a bit shorter than the last one, so I hope you'll be a bit relieved. I'm trying to shorten up my chapters to prevent complaints. Uh, I guess that's all I have to say so...read and enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. I own nothing. I own nothing. (continues brainwashed chant)

* * *

**23) The Dark of Night**

"Prince Ephraim, I need to—"

"Prince Ephraim! Prince Ephraim!"

He glanced from Lute to the racing Kayll heading towards him with Ewan only a few yards behind. He suppressed a scowl. It was the dead of night, but he had to see to his soldiers before he would lie in the sweet, silent embrace of sleep. Sometimes being the Prince had its major downsides.

He sighed. "What is it?" he asked with an irritated tone.

Lute burst in before Kayll had even stopped. "Prince Ephraim, there was an attack on the east side of camp. A mauthe doog. But it was carrying this." She held out a plank of wood with the odd slanting characters of the Voice that even Ephraim was familiar with. "It's a warning." There was an echo of confusion in her voice.

"A warning? From the fiends?"

"Prince Ephraim!" Kayll exclaimed, finally slowing to a stop.

"Yes, yes, Kayll. What is it?"

"The moon! The moon—it bodes—an ill—omen!" she gasped out, scarlet eyes wide. She jabbed her finger out into the night sky. Ephraim turned, curious, and indeed saw the moon. But instead of it being its normal silvery white, it was rusty red.

He took a deep breath, reeling in whatever patience he had left. "Yes, Kayll. The moon is an odd color tonight." He said slowly. _This is probably some kind of peasant folklore. _

"No!" she shrieked. "The moon! The blood-red moon! It's an ill omen!"

"Yes, Kayll. I heard you the first time."

"Kayll? What's going on?" Ewan asked, finally pulling up to a stop. "What's this about the moon?"

"It means a horrible act, Ewan!" she said frantically. "I've seen it before and it didn't have a happy ending. Please! You must believe me this time! I don't want to see slaughter anymore than you do, so please, listen to me!"

"What do you mean by that? You've seen it before?" Lute questioned suspiciously with a narrowing of her eyes.

"During the War of the Stones the moon only turned that color once before." Kayll clarified. "The fiends came out of nowhere. The field was teeming with them. They butchered the entire infantry and cavalry."

"How were you able to get away?"

Kayll ducked her head at this. "I . . . I ran. At the first sight of them I ran. I couldn't help it! It was . . . horrible." She looked up at Ephraim with burning eyes that glowed luminously in the eerie light of the red moon. "I swear to you, if you don't do something _now_ we'll never see daylight."

Ephraim clenched his jaw and looked up at the unnerving marvel in the ebony sky. Should he believe her? He had said he would give a second chance. And her fears did seem honest.

"Prince Ephraim." Lute interrupted his thoughts. "This," she held out the wood again. "Is a warning from the fiends. It says—"

"That's rubbish." Kayll snapped. "It's a trick to put you in the wrong place. If it says go southeast, they'll pour out of the northeast and take you from behind."

Lute glared at her. "How would you happen to know what it means?"

Kayll leered at her. "It's the oldest trick in the book. They're obviously trying to see how much you know about them. Following those . . . instructions will tell them you know enough to read and speak their language."

"I wasn't going to suggest that we follow it." Lute snapped back. "I simply wanted Prince Ephraim to know what its intentions were. It says that clear paths lie to the—to the—the . . . southeast." She shot Kayll a sidelong look. "Those that ventures there will not be harmed. Our quarrels lie only with those nine we seek."

Kayll harrumphed disdainfully. "You see what I mean? They say you won't be harmed if you're not one of the nine they want to destroy. So they suggest you take the southeastern path to avoid danger. But then they spring an ambush on you. You'd be caught off guard and everyone would be decimated. They don't know anything about mercy."

"I assume it is pure coincidence that you guessed the direction they wished us to go in?" Lute asked with a raised brow.

Kayll returned the sneer and opened her mouth to speak.

But Ephraim cut in. "Enough! This is what we're going to do!" Everyone stopped to look at him. "We're going to send the battle-ready team to the southeast to draw them out, to see if this ambush technique is true. The rest of the soldiers will take positions at a neutral point. Kayll, this is your second and only chance. If you want to stay here, you have to earn your keep. Take up a weapon and fight. Don't you dare argue with your superiors—which would be everyone but you. Lute, go alert your team. Kayll, find someplace out of the way to stand unless someone orders you to move. Ewan, go wake everyone up."

The orders were given and the three hurried away. Ephraim uttered a low groan and rubbed his eyes. It was the dead of night. He should be asleep. But he could smell the battle in the air. So he was going to fight. But first he needed some caffeine. Time to wake the cook.

* * *

Amelia had scrambled to her feet when she heard the shouting. She was ready within a minute. Her time as a recruit had drilled into her the lesson of being prepared and speedy for battle. So when the camp was flooded with racing soldiers, she was finished with her preparations. Amelia was one of the first there to the supply wagon. She usually kept her faithful steel lance beside her at all times, but her dutiful weapon was showing some wear. She glanced around anxiously for Franz, but she didn't seem him. Instead she saw that odd girl with the clashing eyes and hair. Amelia watched her looking at the weapons with a blank face.

"Need some help?" she asked, walking up to her.

The girl looked at her as if mildly startled. "Ah . . . no. I've fought before . . ."

Amelia smiled kindly. "Well, if I were you, I wouldn't take an axe; too much work into just lifting the darn things. And I wouldn't take a sword; I was clumsy at the beginning. I would take . . ." She let her eyes skim over the variety of weapons. "This," Amelia picked up a standard steel lance. "I usually carry this with me. Nice and sturdy. They may not last as long as an iron lance, but they deliver more of a punch." She handed the weapon to the girl with a smile.

"Ah . . . thank you." she mumbled.

"You act like you've never held a lance before." Amelia told her quietly.

"I have!"

"No need to become hostile." She took her by the arm. "Come on, let's go over here." Amelia led her to a secluded spot behind the supply wagon. "Now, even though you've been in battle before, it's always good to remind yourself of your stances." Amelia positioned the young woman's hands. "This is a ready pose. And when someone charges you, you jab forward cleanly like this." She showed the newcomer how step-by-step. "This is a defense stance. This is for enemies on either side of you. This is for one above that you can reach. If the enemy is too high, don't bother trying to attack it. As infantry, you have to keep your eyes and ears open at all times."

"Yes, I know that much." She replied.

"Good. I'm Amelia, by the way."

"You can call me Kayll."

"Are you a magic user? You say you've been in battle, but have never handled a standard lance. You should go to Lute for that kind of thing. She has nearly every magic tome that ever existed." Amelia suggested.

"I'm sure." Kayll said acidly. "But, to answer your question, I'm not a magic user."

"Oh," Amelia furrowed her brow. "Well . . . good luck out there. Remember your stances."

"I will."

Amelia gave her a friendly smile and left. Kayll was a very . . . odd girl. She didn't seem seasoned for battle. She had that reserve and insecurity about her that magic users often had when they were faced with an actual metal weapon. She reminded Amelia a bit of Lute with her slightly arrogant defense. Amelia hoped Kayll would fare all right in the upcoming battle.

* * *

"Forde, are you ready?" Kyle asked as he tightened his breastplate. "Forde?" He turned to his fellow cavalier. "Forde? What are you—? Light above! How can you be drawing at a time like this?!"

"Shut up, Kyle. I'm concentrating." The honey haired man muttered.

"That would be a first." Kyle quipped from behind him. "Come on, Forde, the enemy could be here at any moment."

"We have a battle-ready team, don't we?" Forde mumbled.

"Yes—and we're on it!"

"Oh. I didn't know that."

Kyle rolled his eyes and said a short prayer for patience. "Yes, Forde. We're on the team. We're supposed to be ready in a minute's notice. We're supposed to be out there already, fending off the attack so our fellow soldiers can be ready!"

"Well, that's a stupid idea." Forde said as he added a few strokes of charcoal here and there. "This will look amazing in colors."

"Forde, I don't care if it will look great in color. I care about the fact that we—what are you drawing anyway?"

Forde smirked. "I thought you didn't care."

"I don't."

"Well, just to satisfy your curiosity, I'm drawing the moon."

Kyle raised one brow. "Can't you do that any other night?"

"Kyle! This is a crimson moon! You just don't see crimson moons hanging in the sky every night, do you?" Forde exclaimed, actually turning to look bewilderedly at him.

"It's red. So what?"

"Crimson."

"Crimson." Kyle repeated. "What's the difference between red and crimson anyway?"

"Red is just red. Crimson is deeper in color. Not exactly blood-red, but close. And it's nothing like ruby. Ruby is just too bright. And garnet is much too deep. Scarlet is closely related to ruby, but there's a subtle garnet in it that makes me think of—"

"All right! I get the picture! The moon is red!"

"Crimson."

"Crimson! The moon is crimson! Fine! But we need to be on the battlefield!" Kyle shouted, losing the last of his patience.

Forde blinked at him. "Wow, Kyle. You really need to control your anger—and learn your colors. I could teach you if you want me to."

"We can do that _after_ we fight, okay? Now let's _go!_" Kyle tugged at Forde's arm.

"Gah! Don't make me smear the charcoal or it's ruined!" he hissed. Forde stowed his materials in a safe compartment in his saddlebags. "All right, now we can go!"

"Finally!"

* * *

"Joshua, I am going!" Natasha insisted for the tenth time.

"But Natasha! You aren't at full health!"

She fixed him with a stare she only gave to unruly patients. "Joshua, I must help them. Moulder is the only person specifically trained for sacred stave healing. I need to help him. I will _not_ sit here and wait." Her tone softened. "I promise to stay in the back. And you'll be there to protect me. I have faith in you, Joshua." She said when she saw his doubtful expression. "I know you won't fail me."

Joshua set his jaw and crossed his arms. He really didn't want her leaving the tent. And he really wanted to cut down a few fiends for even daring to harm Natasha. But he knew where he went, Natasha went. And where she went, he went. It was a symbiotic relationship. He protected her. She healed him.

He huffed out a breath. "Fine."

* * *

"Eirika, I must leave now. I have duties I must attend to. But I promise I shall be back to protect you." Innes vowed.

Eirika sighed and shook her head. "Innes, we've already had this conversation. Wouldn't it make more sense for _me_ to protect _you_? Or at least for you stay behind me?"

"I will hear no such thing, Eirika." Innes replied. "I vowed to protect you in the war. This is no different. There won't be any of this rushing in and attacking business, all right? You did that the last time. That would be my job. You just stay back and allow me to handle this."

"Innes—!"

"Hear me out, Eirika." He cut in while checking over his arrows. "As a princess you must be kept safe. I have taken that as my responsibility. I will keep both enemies and suitors away from you on the battlefield."

"Suitors . . . ?"

"I will not allow another man lie claim to your heart, not while I have you in my crosshairs." Innes said firmly. He belted his quiver to his hip instead of slinging it onto the usual place at his back. He found that if the quiver was near his hand he could draw a bolt much faster than taking one from his back.

"I've said it once and I'll say it again. You and your fool pride! Innes, you must stop—"

"I shall not stop until you accept my proposal. But, until then," He smiled. "You'll just have to become accustomed to my protection. I am forced to leave you in the less-than-capable hands of your brother, but I shall return. Farewell for now, my dear Eirika." Innes picked up his bow and walked away to join his team.

He didn't get to see Eirika's slightly overcome expression with her mouth agape and her eyes blinking in confusion. ". . . Innes!" The princess shook her head. "That fool pride of his . . ."

* * *

Artur yawned as he placed a vulnerary into his pocket. He wasn't a morning person. It was morning, even if the sky was black as pitch. He hadn't slept much that night, tossing and turning with plans of meeting Lute running through his head. He had failed to even glance her way in the three days that had passed since Cormag had left. Even now, as he picked up a faithful Lightning tome and pocketed an Elfire, he wondered nervously about confronting Lute.

"You're pathetic, Artur." He muttered under his breath. "A pathetic, cowardly sage. I don't even deserve that title. I should have stayed a monk. At least I thought clearly then. I swear it's the food."

Of course he had to blame something. It wasn't in his nature to blame anyone or anything. But this time . . ._ It's the food. I mean, honestly, how can anyone even call _that_ food? It must have affected me with a rare disease that hinders the host's ability to think. Right. Nice try, Artur. I almost believe myself for a moment. _

He exited his tent and tried not to get in anyone's way. He glanced around, hoping that he might glimpse Lute and spit out an apology before Prince Ephraim began to give orders. Unfortunately, it was not to be. He saw the battle-ready team leaving in a hurry. Biting back a groan, Artur found a spot to stand. A spot out of the way. He joined a few other soldiers standing in such a way too. They looked ready and grim, prepared to race out onto the battlefield. A minute or two passed before everyone was lined up and awaiting their orders.

"I have been alerted to the possibility of an attack this night." Ephraim began from his seat upon his mount. "The battle-ready team has been sent out to confirm this. If we indeed have a battle on our hands, I want equally proportioned teams in each direction. We can't take any chances."

Ephraim rattled off lists of teams and where their positions would be. Artur found himself facing the western plain at the heart of Magvel. Artur teamed with Tana, Duessel, and Ross. They seemed to be thrown together, but Ephraim did his best under pressure. They set out into the pre-dawn morning, but it still seemed like the dead of night to Artur. They each carried torches, lighting the darkness only slightly. The light didn't carry very far, but it would have to do. They had fought in the pitch black darkness before; once in Rausten Court. The crimson moon illuminated the ground with its rusty light. Neither the torches nor the moon helped much, but it was better than nothing.

"Do you think we'll run into fiends, Sir Duessel?" Tana asked quietly from her place upon her pegasus. She hadn't taken to the sky yet, but would do so in a moment's notice.

"I can't say for certain, Princess Tana." The former Grado general answered. "I would keep my guard up if I were you. The army has been spread thin. We're the only team with four units. The other three teams have five units. Now, let's keep an open ear."

They were silent the rest of the way. Duessel had suggested that they spread themselves out so as not to miss any creeping enemies. Tana chose that moment to fly, in case she could spot anything. Artur doubted she would see anything. He could hear Duessel's armor chinking with each step his mount took. Great Knights weren't made for stealth. But Artur couldn't help but feel relieved that they had some brawn in their team. Artur tried not to rustle the tall grasses too much.

A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Duessel? If we're trying to sneak up on the enemy—if there is an enemy—why do we have lighted torches?" he asked.

"I was thinking the very same thing, lad. We may be a clear target, but then we would at least be able to draw out the fiends. Besides, Tana needs to know where we are should anything happen." The older man answered.

"I can't fight with a torch!" Ross complained from Artur's far right.

"When we confront the fiends, drop the torch." Duessel replied, his voice closer to Artur than Ross was on his right.

"But won't that start a huge fire?" Ross questioned. "I don't think that would be a good thing."

"It will allow us to see the battlefield, won't it?" Duessel pointed out. "It is true that this fire could get out of hand, but what would you rather have? Your life or miles of plains?"

"Point taken."

"Now, hush. Listen for them."

Night is a funny thing. It enhances the senses and turns a person's fears against them. The sense of hearing is strained as the person focuses on their surroundings. They squint their eyes, trying to pierce the night vainly. Every little sound and every little movement is noted. Breathing increases, fast and shallow. Their heart hammers against their ribcage and they're sure it will burst through their chest. Perspiration trickles through a person's hairline and down their back. Their hands feel cold and their steps become stumbling and faltering. Paranoia sets in after a few soundless minutes. Illogical and irrational thoughts leap into a person's mind. The simple habits of the night become twisted horrors specifically created to hunt down a lone person and torture them until they run screaming and wild eyed to the nearest form of civilization. And, in their haste, they may trip and fall. Their mind races with horrific scenarios. Their nightmares swoop down upon their fallen forms and all they can do is scream . . .

"Artur."

The said magic user smacked a hand to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming. The torch in his hand shook wildly for a moment. He released a breath through his fingers and closed his eyes tightly.

"Did you see anything off to your left? I thought I glimpsed something, but it could have been a trick of the night." Duessel continued, oblivious to the fact that he scared ten years off of Artur's life.

Artur's wide eyes flitted over to his left and scanned the darkness. ". . . I don't see anything." He whispered.

"No, I didn't think you would." Duessel muttered quietly.

"Do you really think the fiends are this far out?" Artur whispered. "It doesn't seem likely that they would venture this far."

"I doubt they are." Duessel answered. "That's why Ephraim issued only four of us in this direction. He didn't think it likely either, but he wanted the rear covered anyway."

There was a distinct rustle of grass in the silence.

"Wait." Artur stopped. "Did you hear that?" he asked.

Duessel reined his mount to a halt and looked around with a frown. Ross, barely visible in the darkness, stopped too. The three on the ground listened carefully with abated breath. Artur strained to hear something, anything. He was positive that he had heard something.

". . . I don't hear anything." Ross mumbled.

"I'm sure that I—there it is again!" he whispered loudly.

Whatever was making the noise was out of range of sight. But he could hear it moving around out there and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Duessel's sturdy charger blew out a snort and twitched its ears. The horse had been bred for battle. It wouldn't bat an eye even if an arrow skimmed past within inches of it. It wouldn't shy if a fiend came at it full force. But now, in the dark of night, surrounded by slight sounds that may very well be the breeze, the horse was showing the first signs of unease since it had first stepped upon a battlefield.

Artur swallowed and turned around. In all of the tales he had heard as a child growing up in the temple the main character never looked behind him. That was when the great, hulking monster sprung its attack. The older boys would chuckle and laugh whenever they managed to scare Artur silly. Now, in the dark of night, he thought back to those moments. He would sit on the floor, listening avidly to the tale, not caring that his bottom was slowly growing numb upon the cold stone. His copper eyes would be as big as saucers, locked onto the older boy's face. He would hug his knees to his chest, stone still. He would give a shriek whenever the bigger boy thrust out his hands and roared. He would flush red when they teased him mercilessly. After a few minutes of this they would continue the story. Then, even after the story, some would sneak up on him and jolt him from behind.

Artur half expected to find a great, hulking thing behind him with claws raised up to push him from behind. But there was nothing, just as a more sensible portion of his mind had thought. He exhaled a breath slowly.

". . . I don't see anything, Artur." Ross said some distance away.

"But I was sure . . ." He trailed off and turned around again, shaking his head.

"I think the night is getting the best of y—"

Another rustle caused Artur to cut in. "There! You hear that? It's over . . . there!" Artur pointed in the direction the sound came from and ran toward it.

"Artur—"

He tripped on a hidden knot of grass and his torch went flying a few feet from him. He picked himself up just as the fire bloomed in the dry prairie grass. He began mumbling apologies, but faltered to a stop. The fire had spread rapidly in those few seconds and lit up a fair expanse of land. What the fire revealed were a few dozen fiends of various breeds. The firelight reflected in mauthe doog eyes, lit up the empty vacuums of bonewalker eye sockets, glinted on the spearheads and blades of the enemy. The outline of a giant cyclops could be dimly seen. As the fire spread, more and more fiends were revealed. Artur took a step back, following the fire's path with his eyes. More and more . . . Shining red fur; matted brown-black hair; gaping, toothy grins; ragged, rotting flesh; and large luminous eyes. More and more . . .

"Damn."

* * *

**A/N: **I decided to take a new approach in this chapter. I thought little snapshots with a few other pairing and/or comic relief characters (because Kyle and Forde are **not** a pairing!) just to give everyone a feel for how stressful, etc. this situation is. So there's a little more action in this one and there will be more in the next. So please, please, review! Show me how much you like this fic! Thank you! 


	24. Ambush

**A/N: **Attention all readers! There is a very important message in the second A/N, so read it!!!

**Disclaimer: **Ya can sue me, yet ya ain't gettin' nothing'. I hate double negatives--one of my few pet peeves. --

Enjoy!

* * *

**24) Ambush**

"This is utterly ridiculous." Kayll muttered. "We're nowhere _near_ the location of the fiends."

"What do you mean by that, Kayll?" Saleh asked. His tone was without suspicion and she knew he harbored no mistrustful feelings toward her.

Kayll was part of the southern team. Along with her were Eirika, Seth, Saleh, and the blonde cavalier that help her earlier—Amelia. They had traveled south as ordered and had found nothing. They carried torches, which, to Kayll's disgust, gave away their positions instantaneously. _Humans really _are_ dense. Honestly, how did they survive the War of the Stones?_ They weren't too far from where the battle-ready team had been dispatched to. Kayll's patience had ended long ago and now she was doing everything in her power to turn these blind fools around.

"I mean, the message was a ruse! There aren't any monsters in this direction. If I had to suggest any place, I would say the fiends are coming from the northern routes. Northeast, northwest, north in general—that's where they'll be. They're trying to send us south to ambush us!" she clarified, juggling the awkward lance and torch from hand to hand, unable to comfortably carry them.

"How could you possibly know this?" Seth asked almost a little hostilely from his greater height atop his fleet gray stallion. Apparently he had yet to pardon her opinions about Prince Ephraim.

"Well, it's a perfectly logical idea, isn't it?" she returned with the same measure of coldness.

"Why couldn't the fiends be south? There's nothing that says they aren't." Amelia pointed out.

Kayll repressed the urge to glare at the helpful cavalier. "Why would they send a message that points out their exact location?"

"To ambush us." Amelia replied.

"What?"

"They say the safe path is southeast. We go to check out, to see if it is safe, and they jump on us." She explained. "Of course, I don't think that would work unless the _entire_ army went southeast . . . which we didn't do."

Kayll shook her head. "That's what I'm talking about. They knew we would only send a small amount of soldiers, so that particular ambush wouldn't work. So they said the safe way was southeast. They position a small force to meet us. When they have out attention there, they send in the ambush from behind. They'd have us boxed in." She grinned triumphantly. "You see? Simple as that."

Eirika turned in her saddle to stare at Kayll with some amusement. "You sound like Innes." She said with smile. "It's a wonder you two don't get along."

Kayll glowered. "Maybe I would if someone would believe me. For once."

"I'm sorry, Kayll, but—"

Seth cut in. "Where did you get that information?" he asked, turning a piercing stare on her.

Kayll, who had faced more impressive glares than that in her life, deflecting the look. "Why does everyone assume that I get my knowledge from outside sources? You would think I was working for the enemy the way you keep going on about it."

"I wouldn't rule that out of the realm of possibility." Seth muttered.

Kayll rolled her eyes. "I'm telling you, anyone with enough sense would go in the _opposite_ direction to catch the ambushing forces off guard. We'd stop it before they took the upper hand. There's nothing down this way!"

"Whether there is anything or not, we were given orders by Prince Ephraim." Seth said sternly. "We must obey orders from our superiors."

Kayll pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment. Then she grinned wickedly. "I don't want to burst your bubble or anything, but . . . what would happen if, oh, say Princess Eirika ordered us otherwise?"

Seth frowned and shot Kayll a sidelong look. "I suppose we'd have to obey the Princess's orders . . . as long as they didn't risk her safety."

Still grinning, Kayll turned to Eirika. "Now, Princess Eirika, don't you agree with me? Don't you think that we're going in the wrong direction? Wouldn't it be awful if I was right and all of the other teams were surprised and obliterated? I know I'd have a guilty conscious for a _long_ time."

Seth's frown deepened. "Now you're just trying to use guilt against her. That isn't right. Let Princess Eirika decide on her own."

_Not a chance, pal. _Kayll held Eirika's azure gaze. _I'm right, Seth is wrong to doubt me. Turn north. Do it now._

"Seth . . ." Eirika hesitated and glanced over at him. "I think it would be wrong to mistrust Kayll now. What she says is well thought out. What if she's right? We haven't seen or heard anything this way so far. I think it would be wise to turn back."

"Is that an order?" Seth asked, sounding a bit irritated. The look he sent Kayll was more than aggravated.

"Yes. Turn back and aid the others." She said more firmly.

Kayll hid a private grin. _Maybe I should do this more often. _

* * *

The battle-ready team traveled as quietly as possible. They didn't bring lit torches either. They hadn't heard or seen anything to raise suspicion. Yet. Lute was certain something was going on tonight. Everyone was tense and alert. Even Forde, who had a tendency to take a nap--of all things. In the rusty moonlight Lute could see everyone held a weapon held in their hand. Innes's bow was strung and an arrow was already knocked into place. Kyle and Forde balanced their lances in a position that would allow swift and easy attack. Garcia held a mighty axe aloft that could descend upon an enemy with surprising aim. Above them, Vanessa drifted in the night air, circling around them silently on her pegasus. 

"Do you really think the message of forewarning is true?" Forde whispered.

"Why would they send it otherwise?" Kyle pointed out.

"Right."

Silence descended over them like a smothering blanket. But, unlike a blanket, the night was cold. Lute could see her breath misting before her gently like smoke. She wondered why it was so cold. Autumn was quickly approaching, but not this quickly. Some bards used to say that the air always cooled ominously in the presence of evil in their stories. She hadn't noticed such a dramatic change in temperature before, save the time they battled the Demon King's spirit after his corporeal form was slain. Maybe this meant there was an army of fiends lurking about . . .

"Forde, put that away!" Kyle exclaimed softly.

"What? I'm trying to finish it!" Forde protested quietly.

Lute whipped her head around to see Forde had abandoned his lance and taken up a sketchbook and charcoal instead. She shook her head, not sure whether to be upset or to be relieved.

"How can you see in the dark anyhow?" Kyle muttered.

"I've grown accustomed to it. Besides, artificial light destroys the natural lighting anyway."

"You're going to ruin your eyes."

"I'm going to finish this sketch."

"You're going to be a blind artist, is that what you want?"

"If it means I'll be rich off my paintings and well-known, then sure."

"You're an idiot. Now, put that away before the fiends creep up on us."

"I've got time."

"Wasting your attention on a sketch is not my idea of being 'battle-ready.'"

"Well, I don't care about your idea. This is my idea."

"What are you going to do if a fiend attacks? Bash it over the head with your sketchbook? Poke it in the eye with your charcoal? That's some weaponry you have there, Forde."

"Hey—"

Innes whirled around. "Light above! Shut up!" He hissed, scowling at the two cavaliers.

Forde put on an innocent face. "Kyle started it!" He cried, pointing to the stern, green haired cavalier with his rod of charcoal.

"I don't care who started it, I'll finish it!" Innes sent them a glare for good measure and turned again to the front. "Light above! Any fiend in a five mile radius could have heard them." he muttered under his breath.

Lute shook her head and followed the Frelian prince through the night. They continued in silence for a fair distance. Lute's senses strained to pick up any sign of the lurking fiends. After some time, Innes halted.

"I don't like this." He whispered.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"I'm afraid I—"

"No, I mean there's nothing. No sound. Where are the insects? Shouldn't they be out and about, chirping or whatever they do on late summer nights?" he said, frowning. "I think the fiends are close . . . they've scared off very living thing with their presence."

"Should I cast out Fire?"

There was a pause. Then, "Yes, do so. I think we may be in the thick of it . . ."

Lute murmured the ancient words under breath and directed a ball of Fire out into the night. It caught on the prairie grass and bloomed tall and hot in the night. The fire revealed what it had revealed to Artur: a horde of fiends. What Lute didn't know was that this group of fiends was considerably smaller compared to the troop of them northwest of where she was. The battle-ready team was at a disadvantage since the fiends had formed a circle around them. It didn't look pleasant to say the least.

"Positions, everyone! Just like Scenario 3B!" Innes called out.

The soldiers quickly moved into position, brandishing their weapons—even Forde had to give up his charcoal for a lance. Lute stood in front of Innes as he fired off bolts beside her. Vanessa dived down from the sky, taking on the fiends at the back. Kyle and Forde worked together, stabbing and slashing, while Garcia hacked at the close range enemies with his axe. Lute took note that the fiends they were facing were a mix of only four breeds. Bonewalkers, wights, entombed, and revenants. She was slightly relieved to see that this battle wouldn't be too difficult. The entombed and the revenants could be taken out with ease. The fiends may be smarter, but these hulking carcasses were no different from the last batch. The bonewalkers and wights were slightly different. Wights had a nasty habit of catching you off guard with their more dangerous weapons such as the Poison Bow and the Killing Edge. Bonewalkers were fairly easy to take out, but they had an annoying tendency to swamp you.

The battle-ready team fought long and hard, slowly diminishing the number of enemy units. Had there been more soldiers, the fight probably would have ended quickly enough. When the battlefield was blanketed in thick ash like snow, the team sheathed their weapons and wordlessly met. All of them were nursing their wounds, some slight and others in need of a vulnerary. Vanessa checked over Titania, ignoring a particularly deep slice across her arm. Garcia wiped his axe blade on the gray grass, managing only to cover it with ash. Forde tended to his wounded shoulder; an arrow from a longbow had managed to slip between the plates of red armor. Kyle took care of a gash across his ribs; a swift wight had caught him off guard. Innes sat on the ground, applying a vulnerary to his injured thigh. Lute leaned against her horse, balancing on one foot as she poured the healing liquid onto her bleeding calf.

"Innes, if the fiends were waiting here for us then what does this mean for the others?" Lute asked as she rolled down her trouser leg.

The Frelian prince finished tying a bandage over his thigh and stored his vulnerary into a pouch on the side of his quiver. "Considering the size of this force, I would say they are more of them waiting for a signal to begin an ambush." He said, standing up.

"Do you think there are more of them out here?" Lute asked again as she stowed her things in a saddlebag.

"I think there might be, but they're waiting for us to be gathered together before they begin the ambush." Innes answered. "It would be useless calling on the hidden forces now when we're scattering in five different directions. We should find Ephraim and warn him. There is a very good chance one group will come upon the hidden ambush and trigger it before its time. That would most likely result in an entire team obliterated and anyone nearby wouldn't be able to stand a chance should they go to the rescue."

"What if that is what they're planning? Take out each team one by one with an unstoppable force." Lute pointed out as she swung into the saddle.

But Innes shook his head as he shouldered his quiver. "No, the element of surprise would be ruined. The other teams could escape before they manage to get too far. If we're all together and boxed in then we wouldn't have a chance. But it appears that we destroyed one side of the box. If we can gather the teams before they stumble upon any other fiendish forces, we might have a chance."

"In that case we should hurry."

* * *

Artur swore again. 

It wasn't like him to swear, having been a monk most of his life and having been raised under monks all of his life. Swearing was considered a purification of the mouth. Anyone caught swearing would have to go through a cleansing ritual to purify their body and mind. This process was long and tedious and no one enjoyed it in the least bit. So when a monk swears, they have a good reason to.

He had never seen so many fiends together in one place before. It was as if the entire fiendish army they vanquished during the war had risen again and appeared right before him. But this wasn't the entire twice, thrice, or how many times dead army of fiends. This was a whole other force of them that had been hiding away. It looked like they had crawled out from under the very stones he stood upon, out of every crack and cranny. He didn't know how many of them were standing before him and he honestly didn't want to know. Had he known the number, he probably wouldn't have made it through the battle. It was a psychological thing.

"Battle positions!" Duessel roared from behind him.

"What?! We're actually taking them on?!" Artur spluttered.

"You better believe it!" Ross shouted. The fire gleamed in his eyes, giving him a look akin to the bloodlusty one in the eyes of the fiends. He hefted up his axe and leered at the monsters before him.

"But—but . . . Well, just look at them!" Artur pointed while unconsciously reaching for his tome.

"So?" Ross shrugged. "We've done it before and we'll do it again!"

"That's the spirit, Ross!" Duessel shouted out a war cry and charged, axe shining menacingly in the firelight.

Ross joined him with a follow-up cry and ran into the fray. Tana, seeing that her teammates were attacking, dove down with fleet grace, spearing and slashing at the Undead flesh. Artur opened his Elfire tome and spit out the mantra again and again, increasing the size of the fire. Some of the fiends instinctually backed away from the dancing flames. Once Artur had a relatively safe barrier between him and his enemies, he struck out with equal portions of Lightning and Elfire. The Lightning didn't seem to be causing much damage considering the strength of the fiends and the weakness of the attack. Artur stowed that away in his robes and continued attacking with Elfire.

The fiends crumbled into ash, dust, and dirt. They were felled beneath Duessel's and Ross's axes. They were speared from above by Tana. They were incinerated by the Artur's magic. The team struck and struck. They fought and fought until they were trembling with exertion and creeping exhaustion. But they pressed on and on. With all the blows dealt and all the blows received, it didn't seem like they would win. They were against horrible odds. Four against . . . well, frankly, no one wanted to know. It was better if they fought mechanically rather than allowing thoughts of defeat crowd their minds. But with passing time and advancing threats, the first trickles of hopelessness dripped into Artur's mind.

There were so many! The fiends were distinctly more intelligent than their previous brethren. The force gathered before him wasn't even a quarter of the total fiends. Artur saw a majority of four breeds: wight, bonewalker, entombed, and revenant. Sprinkled within these breeds were a few mauthe doogs, tarvos, and mogalls. If this was only a small percentage of the hidden fiend army, what did the entire might of the fiends look like? Artur shuddered just thinking about it.

His Lightning tome had become useless awhile back. He had realized that Elfire packed a bigger punch, so when one of his tomes lost the energy imbued within it, he didn't want to be stuck with a weak weapon. Artur had used what little Lightning he had left until the book no longer contained enough energy to be channeled into an attack. He had used the worthless book to smack a bonewalker back a step. Now all he had was Elfire, but even that was losing its power. He had only a few dozen attacks left with it. After that . . . Artur had decided that he wouldn't turn away from the last blow. He didn't bother to think about what his last thoughts should be, that would prove more useless than a powerless tome.

On and on he fought, beating down the fear of each new foe, thinking quickly to find the weak point and executing an effective attack. While his mouth spewed the ancient chant automatically, he prayed to the light above that he would see the dawning of a new day without being covered in inches of ash. He was surrounded more than half a dozen times—probably more if he thought about it—and each time he managed to protect himself with Elfire, something the fiends seemed to be wary of. He was not unaware of the fact that the fiends seemed to swamp him more than either Duessel or Ross. Perhaps they saw him as more of a threat with his magic. Perhaps they saw him as weaker and decided to pound him with barrages of new strength until he eventually fell. He didn't know. He only knew he would run out of strength to attack.

The effort of surviving was taxing after the adrenaline ebbed away and the mechanical pattern settled upon him. Using his energy to channel the power of the tomes into physical attacks was wearying. Artur didn't know how much longer he could go on. They needed reinforcements and they needed them now. He hoped Tana would realize this and seek help; she was the only one capable of fleeing battle. Artur hoped they could last during the time she was away. They're only hope of survival now was support from the others. Perhaps she had already left or perhaps she had yet to leave.

They needed help and they needed it now.

* * *

Tana looked down on the battlefield from the ebony sky. Sorrow filled her heart. Her three teammates were barely visible in the fray. A large ring of raging fire represented Artur. Duessel's armor was hard to distinguish from the mass of moving bodies. Ross couldn't be found for several minutes. But once Tana spotted him, she felt only a little relief that her team was still alive despite the immense odds against them. Beneath her Achaeus panted, his beautiful white coat smeared with blood and ash. Tana patted her pegasus encouragingly. 

"Come on, Achaeus, we need to get help."

Tana turned her flying mount around and tapped her heels. Achaeus flapped his wings hard, once, and then steadied into a swift rhythm. The wind made Tana's long dark violet hair flap against her back. She squinted her eyes and tightened her grip on the Killer Lance. She leaned low over the saddle and directed the pegasus in what she hoped was the right direction. She had only the crimson moon for bearing. They flew fast and furious, spurred by the urgency of the situation. Three lives—soon to be more with no doubt—hung in the balance. Tana needed to alert any or all groups and get them to turn to the west.

It felt like years, but it was only minutes. The faint light of torches could be spotted. Tana steered Achaeus for them. Within seconds they were close and the rider pushed her pegasus into dive. Tana leveled out when the torches rushed up to meet her. The team she came upon jumped back with surprise and held up their weapons.

"It is only I, Tana!" she called out. "My team needs immediate help in the west! There are masses of them! We—We can't fend them off for long."

Innes stepped forward. Tana felt a surge of hope. Her brother would do something about this.

"The west?" He sounded confused, as if it were the last place he had suspected an attack.

"Yes, Brother. Artur dropped his torch and we suddenly found ourselves surrounded." Tana replied quickly.

"Tana, how many enemies still remain on the field?" Innes asked.

"Too numerous to count at a glance." She said briskly. "My team will be destroyed in a matter of minutes if no one arrives. Three against that many is suicide."

Innes nodded shortly. "We'll make our way there as fast as possible. Find another team and warn them. This sounds like the ambush we've all been dreading."

"Yes, Brother."

Tana took his final nod as a dismissal and nudged Achaeus's sides. The pegasus surged upward again and they were off. If Innes's team joined hers, they would stand a better chance, but they wouldn't win. Tana scanned the dark ground below for the dim flames of the torches. Seeing a few she had almost missed, she turned back and dove down to meet them. She found Princess Eirika's team. She quickly repeated what she had said to her brother.

Seth furrowed his brows. "An ambush?" he wondered aloud.

"You see?" Kayll said. "I was right. There _is_ an ambush. And to think you almost didn't believe me."

Eirika ignored their comments. "Tana, of _course_ we'll help. Where is your team stationed?"

"The west." She said a little breathlessly.

"The west? Hmm, I didn't expect that." Kayll murmured to herself just loud enough for others to here.

"And you thought it would be from the northeast." Seth muttered.

Kayll glared at him, curling her hands into fists. "I'm only human!"

"Are you?"

"That isn't important now." Eirika said hastily. "We'll go west and assist them."

* * *

**A/N: **I know this chapter is a little shorter than the others and I don't like how it turned out. It feels rushed. (sigh) But, oh well. I didn't feel like going back and deleting goodness knows how many pages and retyping it all. Besides, I didn't have time. I was lucky enough to finish this last night. And now for the important message.

Attention all readers! I am sorry to say that I will be taking a break. In other words, a hiatus. I know I left the fic off at a very bad point, but I couldn't help it. I need a little breathing space and time to find my inspiration. Please don't send me messages or reviews saying something along the lines of: "I can't believe you did that/ You are vile/ You are pure evil/ You did this purposely to make all readers suffer/ How could you be so selfish?!"

1) I am not vile, evil, etc. 2) I did not decide this for the sole purpose of making you suffering, left wondering, etc. 3) I am not being selfish. 4) I doing this for your benefit. I need to recharge. 4) I have **way** too much going on at once. I need to finish/complete something before I can continue working on my fics.

**I WILL BE RETURNING EXACTLY ON JULY 7 2007.**

Thank you for your cooperation.


	25. The Heat of Battle

**A/N: **I'M BAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!! Hi everyone!!! It's sooo good to be back! I've missed you all! (Yes, even you readers that don't review!!) Thanks SandyCaesar for the PM—it really made my day. I was thrilled to find that at least someone didn't forget about me! I hate the word hiatus and I'm so sorry that I had to make you all suffer for seven weeks. I hope this makes up for it. This chapter is a bit short and I'll admit it was one of the harder chapters to write, but I believe it's satisfactory. I apologize for posting late in the day—at least it's late where I am—but I've been packing for a trip I'm taking. This trip will be discussed in the last A/N. But, for now, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. It is the nightmare that every fan experiences and it will continue to the end of time . . . . . . . . IT'S MINE, I SAY!!!! MINE!!!! ALL MIIIIIIIIINE!!!! YOU CAN'T TAKE IT FROM ME!!!!! (is sedated and carted off to the Mental Institution for Fans in Denial)

* * *

**25) The Heat of Battle**

Cormag and Genarog flew above Gerik and his mercenaries in an almost lazy fashion. Wyverns were faster than horses, so Cormag was forced to hold Genarog in check. They had been traveling for almost two days now. It hadn't been too hard finding the Desert Tiger. Gerik was well known, having a great reputation for finishing any job. Cormag simply had to ask around and the people pointed out the way for him. Cormag found that some of the civilians were uneasy about Genarog. But, then again, pretty much everyone was on edge around Genarog. Other villagers knew Cormag as a Grado general and, withholding their information, told him to move on. This was an annoying delay, but he was still able to find Gerik in good time. Cormag had handed over the letter from Innes to the mercenary. The Desert Tiger had simply looked at the handwriting and handed it back. He then had looked over his shoulder at Marisa and Tethys and said: "Come on, looks like our favorite prince has a job for us." And now, many hours later, they were still riding back east.

As Cormag and his party traveled on toward camp, Genarog growled low in his throat. Cormag knew what that meant. He scanned the dark ground below and spotted a red glow in the distance. He could faintly see the smoke curling through the crimson light. Genarog snorted and tensed beneath his rider.

Cormag patted the wyvern's shoulder. "Easy, easy. I see it too." The knight leaned over the side of the saddle and shouted down to the mercenary "Gerik! There's a fire in the distance! I suspect the fiends are making their move!"

"Well, then, let's get moving!" The Desert Tiger shouted back. "I've been itching for a fight for weeks now!"

The small group surged forward, making their way towards the scarlet glow in the distance. The closer they grew, the louder and clearer the sound of battle became. Genarog rumbled deep in his throat again, eager to fight. Cormag, too, was caught up in the anxious vibes the awaiting battle was giving off. The wyvern tried to fly onward as fast as possible, but Cormag stopped him with a firm nudge to his ribs. When they came upon the scene, Cormag could barely make out his allies amidst the chaos. There were swarms of fiends. Dozens upon dozens of them, all convulsing and lunging like one mass.

Knowing that his fellow soldiers could very well be dead, Cormag steered Genarog around the battlefield. Obviously, some were still alive or the fiends would have moved on. Cormag gripped his lance in his hands and nudged Genarog's sides. The wyvern dove with an enthusiastic roar.

* * *

Artur was panting, praying, and parrying attacks from all sides. He was exhausted—no, he was _beyond_ that. For once, the thought of death by dismemberment didn't sound so bad. He'd do anything to just stop and sleep. Sleep sounded so, _so_ good right about now. 

But, no. He couldn't. He had to fight. He had to live. If not for himself, then for Lute. He hadn't approached her and talked about their miscommunications yet. He had to clear that up and in order to do that he had to live. Lute would be disappointed in him if he died. She would be . . . right? But . . . She had seemed so . . . indifferent towards him the last time he'd seen her. So maybe . . . Maybe letting go would be okay. Maybe clinging so desperately to life wasn't worth it . . .

Artur swayed on his feet and saw the fiends rushing in to take advantage of the weakening defenses. Artur groaned with effort as he forced another Elfire attack. The three fiends nearest him disintegrated. Artur's hands were trembling and the magic tome nearly fell from his grasp.

_Tired . . . So tired. Please . . . let me rest . . ._

A shattering, bellowing roar startled him. He would have flinched, but that would require energy—something he didn't have. He looked up into the black sky and saw a flash of blue-gray scales in the dim light of the fire. He squinted and tried to identify the new creature. A bellow tore through the air and some of the fiends stopped to stare upward as well. The great flying creature dove and a figure on its back lashed out with a quick, vicious slash. A few fiends screamed as they dissolved into ash. The creature touched the ground long enough for the rider to take out a few more monsters.

Artur blinked._ Cormag . . ._

He was immediately filled with relief so intense that it actually ached. If Cormag was here that meant he had found Gerik and his mercenaries. Perhaps they could win this fight after all. The fiends swarmed in again. Artur took a deep breath, sent up a prayer to the light above, and gripped his magic tome with a drop more of strength he hadn't possessed a few moments ago.

* * *

When the team Kayll was put with arrived at the scene, she almost hissed but kept the instinctual urge in check. Fiends seemed to pour out of nowhere. She could barely see the few figures of the west team among the tumult. She held the steel lance awkwardly in her hands as her team hurried forward to meet the demonic forces. She swung the lance clumsily as she met the first few fiends. They were lower class and they didn't recognize her. She managed to beat a few aside and maim them. She discovered quickly that any type of metal weapon just wasn't for her. She glanced around, but couldn't see her "comrades." Smirking to herself, Kayll muttered a few words beneath her breath and blasted the fiends away with a powerful dark magic attack. It had power equal to that of Fenrir—she just didn't need the tome to transfer her energy into an attack. 

A few fiends around her hesitated. That single attack nearly took out a dozen of them. But, going along with orders, they charged with guttural shouts. Kayll unleashed another attack of similar strength and wiped out another wave. She knew she could only keep this level of strength for so long, so she used the power sparingly. She would switch from a powerful Fenrir copy to something less . . . flashy. In any case, the fiends were falling and that was all that mattered. That and saving her "fellow" soldiers.

She knew she didn't have to go to this length to help these hapless humans, but she would look suspicious if she weren't fighting. Kayll kept an eye out of for the humans. If they saw her performing dark magic—without a tome in sight—things could go downhill very quickly very fast. They wouldn't know what to think and would jump to conclusions. That was the last thing she needed. After this battle, Kayll wouldn't use her dark magic again. It was too tempting and it was like a beacon light alerting the fiends whenever she used it. She was only thankful that the fiends—and not the humans—could sense this output of dark magic.

She knew, without guessing the size of the force, this was the ambush that Innes was talking about. The western team must have come across it and inadvertently set off the attack. She wondered how many of the four team members were still alive. When Kayll got a chance to look around, she saw that there were a few more allies than there had been. A wyvern lord; a swift muscled man, a blur of a woman, and a dancing beauty had joined the fight at some point. Their efforts helped, but she knew there weren't enough humans to beat the monstrosities.

Kayll let go of another mighty blast of dark magic. She was, so far, unscathed. The fiends were now wary of her and they thought through an attack before executing it. It might have been rather disturbing to consider the rotting, animated corpses human-like, but Kayll was used to it. Their intelligence didn't faze her, their sheer number was enough.

She fumbled with the lance for another few minutes before tossing the thing into the body of a revenant. The beast fell with a strangled cry and dissolved away. She fought the monsters with all of her magic. She could feel herself caving to her old ways, her body settling naturally into offensive and defensive stances. The familiarity of it brought feelings of nostalgia for what she could hardly call a life.

_At least back then things were simple. At least then I didn't have to struggle so hard to convince them to trust me; fiends don't need trust. At least then I didn't have to hide who I really am—even as hideous as the truth is. If I ever showed them what I can really do, what I really know, they wouldn't trust me as far as they could throw me. Even though life with the fiends was simple, I'm not proud of the way I lived and I'm not one for revenge. I'm not going to allow these monsters kill the only ones who did the right thing._

* * *

Lute saw the fire before she heard the sounds of battle. Someone must have dropped their torch and lit the area. The vermilion glow could be easily seen from miles away. As they drew closer, the sound of clashing steel and hoarse, dying screams became audible. Lute bit her lower lip nervously, one hand gripping the tome in her hand. 

_Artur was in the western team. _

That thought struck her hard, as if she was on the receiving end of her Boltings. She was torn for an impossibly long moment. His words haunted her mind every night and her heart whispered to her like an annoying gnat every day. There was no escaping what she felt, no matter how much she suppressed it, ignored it, or shoved it away.

She loved Artur.

It was unfair in the cruelest sense of the word. Her head knew affections couldn't be brought onto the battlefield. But her heart didn't care. Not one whit. She was in a tug-of-war with her head and her heart. It was pulling her apart at the seams. Any moment she would burst and that would lead to hasty disasters. She had to decide. It was now or never.

Apparently, it was now for her heart raged ahead. It caused her to spur her mount forward directly toward the fray. Innes was shouting something at her. Something about battle formation. Her heart only knew one battle formation: fight 'til you drop. And that was exactly what she was planning to do. She had to find Artur among the discord. She had to make sure he was all right. Light above, he could be dead by now! But that wasn't something she was going to accept.

She had charged into the confusion and was attacking fiends left and right with her light magic tome, Divine. She knew running full tilt into an ambush like this wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but she didn't really care. She had to do whatever she could to prevent the obliteration of the western team. It could already be too late, but she fought on regardless because, now, there were more lives on the line. Her light magic tore through most of the fiends, but some stubbornly stood standing. These particular monsters took a few attacks to defeat. Lute knew that with the way she was using her tome it wouldn't last much longer. Light magic tomes never had a very long life. So when the worn-out book could no longer give her the magic she needed, Lute tossed it away and pulled out the Excalibur tome.

While Excalibur was a legendary sword in every other story, here Excalibur was a force of great magic. It manipulated the winds and brought them together to create a sweeping, lashing attack. The winds were formed in an almost blade-like shape and were just as cutting, making the strike twice as effective. Excalibur was a great weapon and Lute only knew of a few others who could wield its might.

It was with Excalibur that she found herself in the very thick of battle. She wasn't afraid; she had no time for fear. She went, basically, on primal instinct and relied on all of her training-honed senses. An old veteran of war had once said: "Go out onto the battlefield and forget everything you were taught. Then relearn it all over again with your enemy." His words were true. There was nothing—not even decades of training—that could prepare you for battle. Of course, those years of training did help, but fighting wasn't by the book. There were too many variables, too many sudden moves, to fight according to what you learned. The heat of battle was when you found out if you were good enough. If you were, you lived. And if you weren't, you died. It was as simple as that.

Lute took notice of the attention she was getting. She found herself fighting alongside Duessel, whom she was happy to see alive. The fiends could have attacked him, but it seemed like they had forgotten about him and concentrated solely on her. In fact, Duessel was so left out of the fight with her there that he began to help her fight off the fiends surrounding her. Lute knew this wasn't out of ignorance. Either they found magic to be especially dangerous or she was one of the targeted nine. Neither thought comforted her.

As the wave of beasts shifted, lessening and growing in uneven intervals, Lute was able to see beyond the fiends battling her. She took quick glances knowing that letting her eyes stray too long could be her downfall. She despaired to see that there were dozens more. She noted that the vast majority of them were two different breeds with two different sub-breeds: wight and entombed, bonewalker and revenant. Sparsely mixed in with them were a dozen or so of mauthe doog, tarvos, and mogall fiends.

She was able to spot her comrades occasionally. During these glances, she looked for Artur, but she couldn't find him. She knew that simply because she couldn't see him, didn't necessarily mean he was dead, but she worried nevertheless. On one such glance, she saw something that nearly cost her life. Kayll was standing among the fiends and a dark aura glowed around her. She held no weapon and the fiends were turning to ash before her. Lute was . . . shocked to say the least.

The lavender haired magic user's eyes narrowed. How was it that Kayll could use dark magic . . . without a tome to channel her energy?

At that moment, a wight jabbed at her with its lance. Lute's mount reared and lashed out with her front hooves. The pile of bones crumpled and fell. She patted her horse's neck in thanks and berated herself silently for letting her attention wander. She tried to focus on her fights, the movements of her foe, the jabs and defenses, but her mind continued to wander back to the sight she had just witnessed.

_Kayll was a dark magic user._

* * *

The battle struggled on. Artur had glimpsed some of his companions. He made a mental tally and found that there were, at the very most, twenty units fighting. That was enough, wasn't it? It was the most they'd ever had during one battle. Prince Ephraim liked to switch up their offensive force before each battle. The units that had fought the most in the last battle would usually rest and the units that had fought the least or needed the experience went to the front. Of course, there were always exceptions. The loyal, noble types—such as Seth—often refused to give up his position and fought on regardless of the fact they were tired or hungry. Their offensive force wasn't usually this big; it would hover around ten to fifteen with aid units to spare. 

But now there were twenty of them. That was enough, right? He hoped so. His extra burst of energy had been leeched off by one of the few Elfire attacks he had left. He was bone-weary and then some.

_What I wouldn't give to see Tethys dance._

The crimson haired woman had a unique talent. Her lively dancing gave off infectious vibes of energy. Being in her presence was like waking up from a long sleep, full of stored energy that was just waiting to be released. Her dances were refreshing for any tiring soldier. With her, they could find their second wind and keep on fighting. Tethys had begun dancing at a young age and fell in love with the art. She strangely never tired of dancing and she allowed Gerik and her protective little brother be her bodyguards as she made her way over the battlefield.

But he didn't know where Tethys was and at the moment he was being boxed in.

He gripped the tome in his hands and glanced around at the lumbering entombed that were making their way toward him. They lunged out with fetid claws that infected any wound they made. He halfheartedly shouted out the words that caused a brilliant cerise fire to snake towards the sky. His limbs shook and his vision blurred for a second.

_How long have I been at this? How long has it been since this battle started? I don't know; I just hope it ends soon._

While in a moment of stupor, a revenant swiped its foul claws across his ribs. Artur reacted a moment too late. When the creature was dust at his feet, Artur fingered the torn robes and touched the sticky substance pooling on his skin. The gashes weren't too deep, fortunately. However, unfortunately for Artur, there also wasn't a cleric or a priest around. Worse yet: more fiends were coming.

Artur groaned, a desperate sound that bordered on a wail. _Will this ever end?! Will they ever stop coming for me?_

This time the great, hulking outline of a cyclops approached him. Artur believed this was the only out here and he was lucky enough to meet the great brute. He supposed he had an advantage; little swords wouldn't inflict much damage on it and magic was the preferable weapon. But that didn't dismiss the fact that the beast carried an axe nearly the size of an average human. The curved blade gleamed in the firelight and Artur trembled. From exhaustion or fear he didn't know.

The cyclops lurched forward with its axe. The thing moved with speed that belied its size. Artur scrambled back in time to see his reflection on the blade's surface. The cyclops tried to chop at him again, but Artur parried the blow with a shot of Elfire. The monster howled in pain, but remained standing. The fiend raised its weapon again and, with gravity backing the insanely heavy axe, struck again swiftly. The copper haired magic user shuffled back again and tripped on a hidden knot of prairie grass.

_Curse those things; they'll be the death of me._

The blade was descending and the cyclops was standing over him. The ancient words burst from Artur's mouth. That was his last attack. He hoped it would be enough. And, to his intense relief, it was. The massive cyclops' bellow rang in his ears as it broke apart as ash and dust. He felt a fleeting moment of intense, burning relief. It only lasted a split second because Artur had forgotten about something. While the monster was destroyed, anything else—such as weapons—was not. A battlefield would be littered with abandoned shields and weapons leftover from the fiends that possessed them after a skirmish.

The axe, unbalanced from the sudden release and flipping through the air, was still descending upon him.

Artur didn't have time to curse the prairie grass again before the agony blinded him. The sudden pain jolted him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Lute watched Ephraim's guilt ridden face as he shook his head. "I can't believe this."

The strenuous battle was over at last and the land was charred, covered in a blanket of ash. The land was a gloomy, winter scene with gray snow. The air was acrid with the scent of smoke. A few fires were still smoldering quietly. The army had united once more and was tending to their wounded. Those who had fought were resting quietly, not caring that the beds they lay upon were the ashes of their enemies. Lute was weary, but she forced herself to be attentive as did a handful of others.

"Well, you better. Another slip-up like that and you won't have anyone to command around." Kayll sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "You didn't believe me and you paid the price."

Lute scowled at the ruby eyed girl, anger bubbling. She would have liked to mention Kayll's magic abilities, but she would keep that quiet for now. It was a perfect piece of blackmail.

Ephraim sighed wearily and rubbed his temples. "An ambush occurs and my team is in the opposite direction. I can't believe this."

Eirika touched his arm. "Brother, it is fine. We are all fine. Cormag was able to arrive in time with Gerik."

The Renais prince looked over his troops. "Role call. We should take role call to be sure we haven't . . . lost anyone."

The teams were counted and names were said. Only a few people didn't answer "Here!" or "Present!" Lute gnawed on her lip when she realized who were still missing. With a glance at Kayll, Lute could see the strange newcomer's features were a cross between dismay and disgust. Ewan and Saleh looked equally worried as Lute. Even Cormag, so passive in his emotions, expressed slight concern with a creased forehead. Vanessa was pale and Kyle was paler. Franz's brows were knit together and his hands were shaking slightly.

Artur and Forde were either missing . . . or dead.

* * *

**A/N: **And now, the news that will make everyone hate me. (stands behind concrete, steel-enforced wall) I will be going on a trip this coming week and will not be able to post on time. I will be away the entire week without internet access. So any wonderful reviews or beautiful PMs will not be answered until much later. You WILL get your chapter, it's just going be a little late. So, please, no flames. I realize I'm being evil with the sinister cliffie, but I'll make it all better . . . possibly on Monday (7.16.07). 

Now please review and tell me how much you missed me!! Cookies to anyone who does!! Buh-bye!


	26. In Which We Encounter 2 Cases of Idiocy

**A/N: **I'm home, my wonderful readers/reviewers!!! I'm so sorry I had to make you wait two extra days. I'm not usually this absent, as some of you know. I promise it won't happen again...at least until next summer. (And I hope I have completed this by then! ) I know I promised I would make this longer than the last chapter, but the truth is: I lied. This is actually 600 words or so shorter. I'm sorry. (hangs head in shame) Well, while I'm baring all of my faults I should mention that I have made a mistake. (Shocking, I know. ) Fenrir is NOT, in fact, a Sacred Twin tome as SandyCaesar pointed out. But let me say this: the FE8 guide lied to me!!! That's what it said in black, bold print. So, don't blame me, blame the people to distributed the guide with an error in it!! So, thanks, Sandy for pointing that out to me. Also, it has been corrected.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **We've covered this already, right? Then why do we have to go through it again? If you ask me, that's asking too much of the authors. It's bad enough knowing we'll never own it, so why rub it in our faces?! Grr. Fine. I don't own, therefore, I cannot claim.

* * *

**26) In Which We Encounter Two Cases of Idiocy **

Without a word, Cormag spun on his heel and walked over to Genarog. The wyvern's tail lashed distressfully and he kneaded the ground with his front claws. Cormag gave him a reassuring pat and swung into the saddle. By now he had attracted the attention of many. They all looked at him with the same questioning glances. He returned those gazes with a passive one. With a tap of his heels, Cormag was airborne.

Genarog flew as swiftly and as smoothly as he always did, but there was an anxious quiver in the air around him. Wyverns were intelligent creatures. There was no doubt in Cormag's mind that Genarog knew Artur was in trouble. They glided above the battlefield, straining to see something—hopefully a spot of copper hair—amongst the gray landscape. They must have circled and crossed the morbid land of gray winter three times before Cormag received any reaction from Genarog.

Cormag had begun to lose hope, despite his resolve not to. They hadn't found Artur nor any clue that told them he was still alive. The humble sage was most likely dead and covered from view. Cormag was accepting this fact slowly and quietly. He wasn't the kind to socialize and make friends. He wasn't the kind to allow people close to him. He believed Genarog was enough. He didn't like to admit it, but he _had_ made a few friends: Artur, Natasha, and Tana. Realizing that one of them was dead wasn't something he enjoyed doing. It reminded him too much of his brother's death. Glen hadn't just been his brother; he had also been Cormag's closest friend. Cormag didn't want anymore of his friends to die, but perhaps nothing could be done to delay "their time."

The solemn wyvern lord ran his hand along Genarog's neck soothingly. "Genarog, I hate to say it, but I think Artur is—"

The wyvern growled and shook his head as if to deny his lord's claim.

"Gen—"

The winged beast suddenly dove. Cormag pressed his legs to the wyvern's sides and clutched the saddle horn.

"Genarog!"

He pulled out of the dive at a dangerously low height. His monstrous wings beat the ground, stirring up the ash and the dust. Genarog soared back into the air and hovered. Cormag, a scowl on his face, opened his mouth to reprimand the wyvern, but Genarog cut him off with a sharp jerk of his head. Cormag followed the wyvern's gaze.

A spot of copper and a pool of ruby against a gray background met his eyes.

"Artur . . . ?"

Genarog trilled gleefully and dove again. He landed on the ground, raising a cloud of dust, and nudged the still, ash covered form. Cormag jumped out of the saddle and walked over to the humanoid shape, leaving little dust devils in his wake. He knelt next to Artur and carefully felt for a pulse. His own pulse jumped when he felt a weak, fluttery beating beneath his fingertips. He searched Artur's body for injuries. The greatest and most obvious one was his left leg. An immense axe—too large for a man to carry—lay across both his legs, but only the left sustained serious injury. The ash that had settled over his leg had turned maroon in color. Cormag could see white bone peering out of the magic user's trouser leg. The next injury wasn't so fatal, but serious nonetheless. His robes and the tunic beneath had been ripped wide to reveal festering gashes left from either a revenant or an entombed.

Wordlessly, Cormag stripped off his armor to tear the bottom of his tunic. He gently wiped the grime from Artur's face, frowning subconsciously at the shade of white he found beneath the ash. He signaled to Genarog and together they pulled the axe away. Cormag held back a grimace upon seeing the bloody mess of shattered bone. Cormag knew he shouldn't move him; he could do more harm than good that way. However, if he left to retrieve help, Artur could die before he arrived. He had lost too much blood as it was.

Mindful of the broken leg, Cormag slipped an arm under Artur's back and beneath his knees. Artur gave an involuntary moan as Cormag lifted him. The wyvern lord blocked out the sound and, with some tricky maneuvering and help from Genarog, sat in the saddle with Artur cradled to his chest. Genarog rose into the air without his usual eager jerking. The wyvern smoothed out the beating of his wings, sensing Artur's hindered and fragile condition.

Cormag chose to ignore the fact that Artur's blood was dripping onto his trouser leg. He didn't look at Artur's chalk-pale face either. He didn't focus on the fact that the magic user's pulse was weak. Doing any of these things would result in pain worse than what he was already in.

Having one of the few people he truly trusted bleeding in his arms was tearing him up inside. He hated these feelings of sorrow, panic, and desperation. It was one of the reasons he didn't want close friends.

Genarog flew on gently through the dawn sky with slow wing beats.

* * *

Kyle watched Cormag fly off on his wyvern. It was in that moment that he turned to Vanessa. However, to his surprise, she was already one step ahead of him. From her seat in Titania's saddle, the pegasus knight gave him a pointed look. The stern cavalier nodded, but turned to Franz. The fair haired boy still looked unstable even with Amelia rubbing his arms comfortingly.

"We'll find him." Kyle promised him.

Franz said nothing.

Kyle turned away and began walking towards his mount. He saw Vanessa and Syrene talking quietly. Syrene nodded.

"Wait,"

Kyle paused.

"I'm going too." Franz told him.

"Franz—"

"I'm going." He repeated again firmly.

Kyle nodded, knowing it would be wise not to argue. "We'll split into two teams. Syrene is with me. Franz, you'll go with Vanessa."

Amelia wished them luck and stayed behind. The four slipped off quietly before anyone of royal blood noticed them. Kyle rode far with Syrene flying gracefully above him. As time dragged on and the miles stretched, Kyle felt desperation set in.

_Please, please, please . . . Light above, let him be alive . . ._

He rode on fiercely, his narrowed gaze searching frantically. Minutes later, Syrene descended toward him.

"Kyle, there's something on the other side of this hill!" She called down to him.

Wordlessly, Kyle spurred his mouth roughly, earning a huff of agitation in return. The horse sped up and crested the hill. Kyle didn't pause for a moment. He flew down the slope and charged across the plain. A glint of honey blond made him halt. Kyle drew his mount to a stop so suddenly that its hindquarters dipped. The green haired cavalier leapt from the saddle and landed on his knees beside the form face down in the ash.

"Forde . . . ?"

A few yards away, Syrene landed with a flurry of wings and dust. "Well? Is it him? Is he . . . ?"

Kyle reached out with a slightly shaking hand. He touched the shoulder and recognized the honey blond hair even though it was dusted with ash. He slowly turned the body onto its back and brushed aside the stray locks of hair.

". . . Forde." Kyle confirmed even though he had known all along. "Forde? Can you hear me?"

Syrene dropped to her knees beside him. Her eyes trailed over the festering gashes along the fallen cavalier's torso. "These don't look good. We should take him to Natasha."

Kyle shook his shoulder. "Forde? Forde? Answer me, dammit!"

Syrene touched the blond's forehead. "Fever has already claimed him."

He shook his companion harder. "Forde! Wake up! Forde! _Please!_" Kyle ducked his head and grit his teeth. "Please, wake up . . . Tell me you're alive . . . Say _something!_"

Forde's face contorted and he coughed, blood flecking his lips. "Kyle . . ." He said hoarsely. "Stop begging in front of your woman. It's very . . . unbecoming of you."

Kyle wanted to sigh with relief or hug Forde until he couldn't breathe. Instead . . . he slapped him upside the head.

"You idiot!"

"Ow . . . ! What was . . . that for?"

"Kyle! Don't hit him!"

"You idiot! We're all worried about you and that's all you can say?!" Kyle shook his head. "What were you doing?! Painting again? It would be like you to pain in the middle of an ambush!"

Forde's face twisted into an angry, pained expression. "I wasn't painting!" He exclaimed with a raspy voice.

His expression soon softened into something more fragile, more weary. It was then that Kyle noticed the fevered haze his friend was enveloped in. Forde's cheeks were flushed, his eyes were dull, and the wounds on his body bled sluggishly.

"Your armor is gone." Kyle stated. "What happened?"

"I think . . . it was gargoyles." He attempted a smile. "I knew I was handsome, but I never thought I would attract the Undead."

Kyle scowled. "You're still not taking this seriously. Do you realize how lucky you are to be alive?!"

Forde sobered and closed his eyes. "Yeah, I think I do . . . for once. Gargoyles stripped me of my armor and entombed tried to shred me. I got away . . . but I couldn't get to safety." He winced, his breath catching in his throat, and uttered a soft moan.

Syrene shot Kyle a concerned look.

He nodded. "Come on, Forde, Syrene will fly you back to camp."

Together, Kyle and Syrene were able to place Forde in the saddle. In the span of a few minutes, Forde's fever seemed to worsen. He was only semi-conscious and oblivious to his surroundings.

"I'll look for Franz, tell him we found Forde." Kyle said to Syrene while his narrowed, yet concerned eyes rested on Forde's slumped form. "Fly fast."

"Of course. Take care, Kyle." She directed an incomprehensible look his way before she took to the skies.

He wasn't sure what to make of The Look. For now, Kyle set that aside. He swung into the saddle and tapped his mount's sides with his heels. He was off to find Franz.

* * *

Lute watched as Cormag landed and noticed a figure lying in his arms. She rushed forward with a muffled cry of shock. Cormag slipped form the saddle and his wyvern crooned in worried tones. Lute glimpsed Artur's shredded, blood-soaked clothing and pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a noise of horror. She wasn't sure if she would scream or sob or cry out, but she didn't want to do any of those actions, especially in front of everyone. Cormag carried Artur to Natasha's tent with a blank expression. It was as if his face was carved from marble. She followed him silently with a worried heart.

Natasha saw them enter and waved them over to a cot. Cormag placed Artur there gently as said invalid issued a subconscious groan. Natasha cut away what was left of his trouser leg to reveal ivory bone and rusty, garnet blood. Lute's stomach turned for the first time since the war began. Rotten, reanimated corpses she could handle, various and numerous wounds she could handle, even vast amounts of blood should could handle.

But this . . . especially when it was Artur . . . She couldn't bear it. She was anxious enough without knowing Artur was serious injured.

Natasha let her hands hover over Artur's mutilated leg. Her expression was far from encouraging.

"Wh-What's wrong?" Lute wasn't aware of her stutter, but had she been she would have berated herself thoroughly.

"Both the tibia and fibula bones have been completely shattered. From the way they shattered, it suggests that heavy impact was the cause of the damage. I can't think of anything heavy enough to do that." Her tone was professional, but her expression was dismayed. "There are also lacerations made by a revenant judging by the width of the wounds."

"A cyclops' axe."

"What?" Natasha questioned.

Lute looked up at Cormag who was standing a few feet away at a respectful distance.

"A cyclops' axe is heavy enough to do that." He repeated.

"Light above . . ." Natasha looked down at the crushed leg in a new light.

"But . . . can you heal him?" Lute asked anxiously.

"Well, yes." Natasha hesitated. "I can make the bone whole and sturdy again. I can repair the torn muscle; however, it's going to be a painful road back to his former state. His left leg won't be as strong as it once was at first."

"But he'll walk again?"

"Yes," Natasha gave her a hopeful smile. "He will, just not too soon. All right then, let me do what I do best. Can you please stand back?"

Lute joined a stoic Cormag a few feet away. He didn't seem to care what happened here. But, if he didn't, he wouldn't be here, so he must care enough to stay. Cormag was hard to figure out. He didn't say much and he didn't show much in his expression. She never knew what he was thinking.

She turned her attention back to Natasha. The end of her stave was glowing and her lips were forming an inaudible chant. The hand lingering over Artur's damaged leg was emitting a soft radiance as well. Lute saw the protruding bones sink back into the skin and heard them rearrange themselves. She wrinkled her nose and turned away. Lute was positive she was going to be sick. Before the realignment was finished, Artur began to moan and his arms twitched as if he were moving to strike Natasha. Both bystanders saw this and moved forward to each take a hand.

"Shh, Artur," Lute whispered. "You'll be all right." Her free hand trailed through his copper curls.

He quieted as Natasha finished. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his brows tilted downward in a frown.

"Artur? Can you hear me?" Lute asked quietly.

His eyes flicked open to reveal tawny brown orbs. It took a moment for him to focus on her. "L-Lute?"

One corner of her mouth raised in a smile. "Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?"

His eyes unfocused for a moment. She realized he was cataloguing his aches and pains. "I-I think I'm fine. What about Kayll? Is she okay?"

The inquiry was a direct stab to her heart. Here she was by his side, worried about him, and all he could ask was if the selfish snob was "okay." Lute pushed past the pain and struggled with a smile. She failed miserably. Luckily for her, Cormag saved her.

"Artur, do you remember what happened to you?" The wyvern lord's voice was utterly emotionless and his face was composed. For once, Lute was grateful for his emotional distance, it helped her to regain her composure.

"Uh . . . I . . ." Artur frowned. "There was a cyclops. I defeated it, but . . ." His eyes widened and he sat up quickly. His hands probed his leg. "How . . . ? But I remember . . . it was . . ." Artur lied back with a confused groan.

Natasha touched the healed leg sympathetically. "It's all right now. I've fixed your leg. I advise you not to stand anytime soon. The muscles will be too weak to support you."

Artur closed his eyes and lied there quietly. Lute noticed she had yet to release his hand. She kept this to herself, wondering briefly if that was as far as she'd ever get: providing comfort for whenever he was injured. Such disquiet could be easily mistaken and classified as friendly concern. She let her thumb trail across the back of his hand. She would enjoy the contact while it lasted.

* * *

"Forde? Forde!"

The blond cavalier looked up in time to see Franz before the boy uncharacteristically tackled him. Or, would have had he been standing. But, since Forde was lying down, it was more like a body slam.

"Oh! Franz—hnn! Get offa me!" Forde groaned and pushed at the armored figure atop of him.

Franz immediately backed off, an abashed blush painting his cheeks. "Um, sorry. I shouldn't have—I mean, you're obviously—"

"Franz! It's okay. I'm fine, I'm fine!" Forde waved a hand at him. "Calm down! It's nice to know _someone_ cares about me." He shot a withering glance in Kyle's direction.

The stern cavalier scowled back. "What is that supposed to—"

Syrene clapped hand over his mouth. "Now, now, don't spoil the reunion. You've done your part, Hero, now leave them alone." She took him by the hand. "Come on, let's leave."

Forde watched the green haired couple leave and smiled cheekily. "I just hope they behave themselves and don't mentally scar anyone." He was feeling much more liked himself since Natasha had tended to him.

Franz looked as though he had swallowed a bug. A bug that had lodged in his throat.

Vanessa, who was standing by his cot, rapped him hard on the head. "You pervert! My sister is _not_ like that! And Kyle seems like a perfect gentleman!"

"Ow! Why is everyone hitting me lately?!" Forde wrinkled his nose and rubbed the knot on his head.

"Because you're an idiot!" She snapped.

"But you still love me!" Forde did everything in his power to look like a cute, lost puppy.

Vanessa looked down at him with a deadpan expression. "Do you want me to pet you and feed you a treat, too?"

"It would be appreciated."

_Smack!_

"Idiot!"

"Oww! What's with all the hitting?! Show some sympathy for the wounded!" Forde rubbed his cheek.

"I'll show you wounded!" Vanessa, with her hands on her hips, glared at him.

The forgotten Franz chuckled. "You two act like an old married couple."

Two gazes, one sky blue and one dark green, glared daggers at the young cavalier.

"Eep . . ."

Franz ran for his life.

Meanwhile, the two burst out laughing. Vanessa nearly curled in half from the intensity of the laughter. Forde wiped away a tear. They both heaved a sigh simultaneously. They glanced quickly at each other and just as quickly looked away, chuckling nervously.

* * *

Ewan sat outside of the healer's tent. Saleh had advised him not to enter just yet. It was crowded as there were many people wounded in the ambush. He and nine other units were spared from the ambush out of ignorance. Ewan wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or guilty.

He was waiting patiently—something he normally couldn't do—for news on Artur. He'd had only a glimpse of the magic user before Cormag had ducked into the tent. From what Ewan had seen, Artur hadn't looked good. He was silently musing on the sage's health when Lute walked—no, stomped out.

Ewan hurried to his feet and approached her. "Hey, Lute!"

She paused and looked back at him.

"How's Artur doing?"

Her amethyst eyes flashed. "He's fine. Very much alive."

Ewan stopped dead. Lute was . . . mad? He frowned. He'd never seen her this angry—especially over Artur's health. That did not make any sense whatsoever.

"Lute? Shouldn't you be . . . happy about that?" Ewan asked tentatively.

"I _am_ happy! I'm _very_ happy! Can't you tell?!" She turned to face him with the scariest expression he'd ever seen.

He almost whimpered, but held it back. "Um . . . not exactly. You look kind of . . . I don't know. You look like you're ready to kill somebody." Ewan told her, averting his eyes from the frightening scene before him.

Lute was deathly silent.

Ewan rubbed the back of his neck as an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

"Ewan,"

"Uh . . . yeah?"

"You're absolutely right."

He looked up at her quickly with wide vermilion eyes. Lute's features were frigid, as if they had been carved from a glacier. What frightened him the most was the twisted, malicious grin on her face. She almost looked . . . happy. Happy about the idea of killing someone.

Then she walked away.

Ewan stood there a moment more, fidgeting. Would Lute really kill someone? He didn't think fiends were on her mind. So . . . who? He shifted from foot to foot nervously.

Could it be Kayll? He knew there was a spark of something akin to rivalry between them.

. . . Okay, maybe not so much as a spark than as a blaze. Yes, it could very well be Kayll Lute was targeting. Should he warn her . . . or should he get Artur? He had a funny feeling the modest sage was behind all of this somehow.

He thought for a moment.

"Artur, definitely Artur. I am _not_ getting between two feuding lionesses." With his mind decided, he turned and hurried to fetch Artur.

* * *

**A/N: **First of all, I won't be concentrating on any other pairs in this fic. I realize that there are a good number of them in the game and a few reviewers have asked for more. I decided to hint or mention them, but they won't be as concentrated as the LutexArtur pairing. The only reason that I added Forde in this chapter rather than sticking with Artur was: 1) Forde is awesome comic relief, 2) having only Artur be the one missing made the chapter too short, and 3) I felt like I would be concentrating too much on Artur...does that make sense?

Hee hee. Lute is cool when she's a sadistic murderer...

Okay, I think I'll end it there with an evil cliffie. Also, where are my reviewers?! They've disappeared off the face of the earth!! ...I wonder if fiends ate them... Please review (whoever is still left alive)!!


	27. Taking off the Mask Part One

**A/N: **I'm so excited!! Saturday just wouldn't come fast enough! Now I know exactly how you feel! This note is going to be short because I can't keep you from reading any longer. All I have to say is: buckle up; it's going to be fast ride for the next couple chapters.

Enjoy!

Note: There is an increase of...creative... language. Just a heads up.

**Disclaimer: **Ah! These accursed disclaimers are so bothersome and a waste of valuable space! Die, scum!! (stabs disclaimer with pen) Die! (notices stares) Um...I own nothing, sadly, and, uh, continue on with your scheduled chapter! Thank you!

* * *

**27) Taking off the Mask (Part One)**

"Hmm . . ." Zinneth looked down into the pool of water absently.

"Well? Did the plan succeed?" Ryfon asked.

"It served its purpose." Zinneth replied. She turned to the gwyllgi general. "I have seen the outcome of the battle through the mirror waters. The entire Entombed and Wight Clans have been wiped out along with their sub-clans. Even the extra troops already waiting in the plains have been obliterated."

"Two whole clans?" Zahn growled. "I told you it was a waste of time. And now look at what has happened! Two clans are gone!"

"They may have been many, but they were not as strong as the rest of us." Syn said logically. "Think of this as weeding out the weak."

"But two whole clans?!" Zahn snarled. "The gorgon will be the death of us all!"

Zinneth glowered at the head. "I also was the one to give you your precious life." She reminded. "I can just as easily take it away."

But Zahn, unaffected by the threat, looked at his other heads. "You see? She creates us and yet, she destroys us at the same time. What kind of 'leader' would take out her own?"

Zinneth hissed. "Shut your mouth! We are not here to discuss my power! We are here to discuss our next move. From what I have seen through the mirror waters, there is only one—save Nianna—who can read our tongue. We must remove that one from the stage. After that, the real show can begin."

"Who is the human that knows our language?" Ryfon asked with unease in his gruff voice. "How does it know our dialect?"

The gorgon general turned back to the pool. "It is a young female with violet hair and amethyst eyes. She is a manipulator of magic, both elemental and holy. She seems to be smart—for a human. As for how she knows so much about us . . . I can only think of the Manakete. Only she could have possibly told the human."

Syn nodded. "What will happen once we have this human in our grasp?"

Zinneth smiled cruelly, revealing her long, sharp eye teeth. "We dispose of her. She is a possible threat to us and was one of the targets anyhow. She dies one way or another. We cannot—" She stopped suddenly and swiveled. She smirked. "Drengar. It's not like you to hide in the shadows and how you managed it for so long is beyond me."

The sound of cloven hooves clopping across the stone echoed in the cave. Drengar, the maelduin general, stepped into the dim firelight. The amber light danced across the beast's violet hide and gray skin. The flaming red hair hung limply around his human face and powerful arms crossed an equally powerful chest. Drengar's plume of tail swished much like a horse's in amusement.

He smirked. "Making plans behind everyone's back, Zinneth? I really thought you had outgrown that. But I see old habits are hard to break, especially when the master is . . . gone."

"What are you doing here, you old ass?" The gorgon asked icily.

Drengar's crimson tail lashed angrily and he gritted his teeth. "I resent that remark. I am nothing like those dumb pack animals."

Zahn snorted. "You sure smell like one."

Drengar stamped a hoof and blew a harsh breath, nostrils flaring. "Shut your mouth, cur."

Zahn growled deep in his throat while his other heads curled their lips at him.

Zinneth sighed. "A general with multiple personalities is bad enough. I don't need an old mule nagging at me right now."

Zahn let loose a soft bark-like laugh at the pun. Drengar reared and stamped the rock with his front hooves.

"Listen, snake. All I want to know is how we are to dispose of this . . . human pest."

The gorgon's ruby eyes brightened. "Are you interested?"

The maelduin's gray skinned face stretched with a wicked grin. "It's been a long time since I've had a, ah, slave shall we say?"

Zinneth grimaced, repulsed. "Your way of torture is, frankly, quite disgusting."

Syn imitated Zahn with a hollow, barking laugh. "What's the matter, Drengar? The village women not good enough for you?"

Drengar laughed. "They are all much too frail! They die before I am finished with them."

Zinneth shook her head, her locks hissing her disgust. "Please do not discuss such matters in front of me. I would rather not know. You will be allowed to . . . dispose of the human, but please do not talk about your ideas now. We still have much to plan."

"Yes," Ryfon nodded. "How are we to capture the female?"

The gorgon smirked. "That fool, Nianna, is still connected to me. I can still hear her thoughts and dreams." Zinneth laughed. "She thinks she can sway the humans to her favor! She thinks she can make allies with them!" She ran a clawed finger over the snake head that served as a hand. "Many are wary of her and some even despise her. I will use this to my advantage. I'll teach her that no matter where she goes, no matter what guise she wears, no one will ever trust her, let alone love her."

* * *

_Is Kayll all right? She didn't appear to have much training. I hope she's in good health. I'd be devastated if she was—no. What am I thinking?! I'm supposed to be focusing on Lute. She's the reason why I tried to stay alive. Although, I don't think being flown off the battlefield unconscious counts as trying._

Artur sat up again and touched his healed leg. The pain was just beginning to register—an ache deep within the bone. He had often wondered why, even after the wound had healed, the injury still hurt. When he had become a sage and possessed the ability to heal others, Natasha and Moulder had explained it to him.

The body heals at its own rate. Some heal faster than others, naturally, and some heal slower; it all depends on the person. Healing by sacred staves speeds the process at an incredible rate. Wounds that would take weeks to heal would close, scar, and fade in minutes. However, since a person's body has its own rate at which it functions, it takes hours, at least, to conform to the transition. Even though the wound is no longer there, things like pain, fatigue, and dizziness linger as the body catches up.

So, right now, Artur was experiencing pain that made him grit his teeth. It felt like he had broken his leg all over again. Natasha had told him the pain would be more uncomfortable than a regular break because the tibia and the fibula had been crushed. She had also told him to tell her if the pain became too great. But Artur, being the humble type that didn't want extra attention, didn't tell anyone.

He was swallowing down another dose of pain like the bitter herbal remedy Natasha gave for stomach discomfort. Then Ewan sprinted in, calling his name.

"Ewan, calm down!" Artur exclaimed.

The red head nodded and gasped for breath. "Ar-tur! It—it's Lute! Lute . . . is, I mean—she's gonna—she said she wanted to—"

"Ewan, take a deep breath." He advised with an amused smile.

Ewan did just that—several times. "Artur, Lute said she wanted to kill someone! I think it might be Kayll!"

"What?!"

"Well . . . she didn't _say_ she wanted to kill anyone, but it was definitely _implied_. Anyway, I think it's Kayll she's after!" Ewan said in a rush.

Artur sat back against his pillow. "But . . . why? It doesn't make sense . . . Why would Lute . . . ?"

Ewan's shoulders sagged. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way they act around each other!"

Artur frowned. "Well, no. Not really."

The redhead looked at him with wide eyes, stunned. "How can you not? Can't you feel the anger just—just . . . radiating from them?!"

He frowned thoughtfully, but said nothing.

Ewan gave a huge sigh. "Well, in any case, I think Lute is going to attack Kayll—or something! You've got to stop it. If you don't stop them, I'm pretty sure someone is going to get hurt."

The thought of either Kayll or Lute (at least, that's what he tried to convince himself) being wounded by the other made his heart leap to his throat. Without thinking, Artur hurried to his feet and then promptly fell flat on his face. Ewan, who was in the process of rushing out the tent, stopped and looked back at him, startled.

"Artur?"

Artur propped himself up on his elbows, gritting his teeth against the pain shooting up his weaker leg. "I'm afraid you'll have to assist me there seeing as I can't stand on my own two feet." He said sheepishly.

Ewan nodded. "Sure."

The younger boy hoisted one of Artur's arms over his shoulders and together they hobbled out of the tent. Miraculously, Natasha didn't notice them leave. But if she had, she would have made sure there would be no way for Artur to stand for the next few months, at least.

* * *

Lute caught sight of Prince Innes's tent and veered off her intended course. She was sure he'd like to see what would be occurring soon. She approached the tent and called out his name. 

"Yes?" He answered in a bored tone.

"Prince Innes, I believe I've the found the information vital to blackmailing a certain someone."

Innes appeared at the tent's entrance. "Do you?"

Lute smirked. "I do indeed. But I was thinking of a more direct approach. Something akin to public humiliation, but in this case it would instill definite mistrust in everyone. I have the . . . urge, shall we say, to launch an attack immediately."

The look in Innes's eyes told her all she needed to know. He'd gather as many as he could and meet Lute outside of Kayll's tent. And when everyone was assembled, a few certain secrets would be revealed with intent of stripping Kayll of all her meager, tentative trust with the soldiers. Then, gods willing, Kayll would be sent packing, never to be dealt with again.

Lute grinned maliciously and made her way to Kayll's tent, taking her time as it would take a few minutes to gather those needed. She remembered that Kayll's tent was close to the medical tent, where Artur was. He would surely hear the goings-on and would probably ask her about it the next time she visited him. Now, Lute was reveling in the idea of finally being able to say the Kayll was no longer a problem.

She paced just outside of Kayll's tent, fingering the spine of her Divine tome, a perfect weapon against the magic Kayll wielded. She would show them. There was something about Kayll she hadn't liked from the start and now she knew what that was. She heard approaching footsteps and saw everyone of royal blood before her, along with a few soldier's whose word mattered.

"What is all of this about, Lute?" Ephraim asked her.

She smirked triumphantly. "I'm about to show you just how untrustworthy Kayll is."

Ephraim looked somewhat interested, as he had his own suspicions. On the other hand, he looked unsure whether or not to let this continue or stop it before it became too much. He nodded reluctantly.

Lute turned to the tent before her. "Kayll! Come out of there right now! I have a few interesting observations to discuss with you."

There was no reply.

"Kayll, you can't hide yourself any longer. I know. I know what you really are."

Again, silence met the challenge.

"Do you want me to show them just what kind of _snake_ you are?"

The tent flap whipped back to reveal an infuriated Kayll. Her eyes were blood-red flint and her mouth was a thin line. At her sides, her hands clenched into fists. "What do you want?" She asked flatly.

Satisfied with the reaction, Lute crossed her arms smugly. "Can you please tell us what weapon you used during the ambush?"

"A steel lance that Amelia recommended, why?" She answered shortly.

"I saw something very different out on the battlefield. Can you tell me what that was?" Lute asked, taking a step forward.

The expression Kayll wore was deadpan. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're an excellent liar, Kayll, I'll give you that much. And don't fall back on the soldier from Rausten act, because I'm positive L'Arachel would never think to put a dark magic user in her army." Lute told her with narrowed eyes. "Isn't that right, Innes?"

"It's true that the theocracy of Rausten relies solely on healers, monks, and all other light magic users. They would never tolerate a dark magic user in their presence." Innes answered, sounding a little confused as well as highly suspicious.

"In that case, your story is very incorrect." The mage knight said. "Who are you really, Kayll? And wherever did you learn to manipulate dark energies _without_ a tome to aid you?" Lute could feel the sudden narrowed gazes from the people behind her.

Kayll, to her credit, didn't even flinch. "Where did you come up with a tale like that, Lute? It's very imaginative since everyone knows that magic users can't function without a tome."

"Everyone?" Lute echoed. "For someone uninterested in war and apparently a foot soldier, who is supposedly familiar with a lance, you _do_ know a lot about our enemy and magic, no? Besides, I don't think 'everyone' knew that about magic users."

"It's common knowledge from where I live." The ruby eyed girl said passively.

"All in all, would you please demonstrate for everyone?" Lute asked sweetly. "Just to prove this theory correct, of course."

"But I have no magical attributes." Kayll protested with a slight frown.

"Really?" Lute almost sounded interested. She stepped back a few paces and raised her tome. "Then can you kindly explain this?" Lute opened the book and rambled off a quick incantation. A burst of bright light shot out at Kayll, who dove out of the way.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Kayll shouted as she dusted herself off and stood up.

"Come, Kayll, defend yourself!" Lute shouted and let loose another burst of white light.

Kayll leapt away from the attack again. "Stop this! I don't know what stunt you're trying to pull, but it won't work!"

"Really, Kayll, where's your sense of pride? I thought all of the Demon King's subjects liked to throw their power around!" The lavender haired magic user goaded and lashed out again.

Kayll ducked and landed in the dirt. She shot to her feet again. "How dare you accuse me of siding with King Fomortiis?!" She shouted in outrage.

Lute paused in her attacks and stared at Kayll coldly. "Yes, King Fomortiis. Isn't it odd that you're the only who calls him that? Isn't it a little suspicious, calling the Demon King by his real name as if he was one to deserve respect? Isn't it also odd that you're the one who seemed comfortable talking about fiends in such a casual manner? I believe it's safe to say you know just as much about these demons as I do, more so even."

"This is ridiculous!" Kayll exclaimed. She turned to Ephraim. "Make her stop! I won't stand for these false accusations!"

"Then do something about it!" Lute shouted. "Show me your real power! Power only _gorgons_ wield!" She was about to launch another attack when a voice stopped her.

"No, Lute! Don't do this!"

She turned to the crowd and in the morning light she could see a hunched figure with red-gold hair. "Artur . . ." She said faintly, surprised. _What's he doing here?! He's supposed to be resting!_

With Ewan's help the hindered sage made his way to the front. Lute could see the stricken expression on his normally gentle features. "Why are you doing this?!" He cried.

Lute frowned. "She's not to be trusted! She wields a gorgon's power. What do you make of that, Artur?"

"Does that really matter?" He asked wearily.

She blinked in astonishment. "Of course it matters! No _human_ can wield _gorgon_ magic! How are we to ever trust her if she lies about who she is?!" She thrust an accusing finger at the girl with twilight colored hair. "She's a fiend! What else can she be?! She's our enemy!"

"No! She's not!" Ewan shouted, surprising everyone.

Kayll stared at him with a curious expression, one brow slightly raised.

"She's not our enemy! She's very human, in fact. You shouldn't judge someone before you know them!" Ewan continued, becoming red in the face with rage. "She has feelings, too! She has hopes and dreams! She's just like us!"

"Ewan," Lute said with strained patience. "I shall repeat myself only once. No _human_ can wield _gorgon_ magic."

He scowled. "So you're saying she's one of them?"

"Yes, I am. She _is_ one of them: a gorgon in disguise." Lute directed a glare at Kayll. "Gorgons don't need tomes to concentrate their magic; they take it from their very essence. It's the same with a mogall."

"So what if she is?" Ewan challenged. "She hasn't done anything to harm us in the week she's been here."

Lute had an answer for that too. "She wanted to win our trust. She wanted us to lower our guard, so, when we least expect it, she'd be able to take us out."

"Lute, stop this!" Artur shouted. "Are you jealous? Is that it? Has Kayll taken the spotlight from you? Why are you doing this?"

She froze. _Is that what he really thinks? _"Do you think so little of me?" She demanded in a tortured whisper. "Do you really think my motive would be one so petty?"

"Lute, I simply meant—"

"No."

"Lute . . ."

She stared at him silently, resilient. "Why are you defending her when you _know_ there is something obviously _wrong_ about her? Didn't you feel anything when you first saw her? Didn't you feel the air of unease about her? Can't you see how _wrong_ her eyes are? Everything she does, everything she says is _wrong_. She knows things she shouldn't know. She does things she shouldn't be able to do. She wields magic no _human_ can possess. _Everything_ about her is _wrong_ and yet you still side with her?"

Artur was silent. He couldn't meet her gaze and instead stared at the ground. There was evident pain in the way he stood.

But Ewan wasn't so easily shaken. "That's where _you're _wrong!" His claret eyes narrowed. "She isn't whatever she was before. She's changing, or at least she's _trying_ to. You don't know her. _I_ don't know her, but I know enough about her. I don't care if she can do things with magic that no one else can—that doesn't change my image of her. If she was a gorgon, she would have known who I was when we first met, right? Why didn't she just leave me out on the plain to die? I would have died whether she had showed up or not. But she didn't leave me there. She _saved _me. What gorgon does that?"

Forgotten, but not left out of the conversation, Kayll stared at the furious boy. "Ewan . . ."

The said magic user turned to look at her and claret met blood-red. "I _know_ you're not here for dark intentions. I know you're good, somewhere under all those layers. Your arrogance, your coldness towards others—it's a front, an act. I've learned more from your reluctant answers than from your fancy speeches to our superiors."

"Ewan," Lute said with biting venom in her voice. "That's all a ploy to make you trust her. You aren't looking at her through clear eyes. She's clouded your vision with sugared lies. She's done the same to Artur."

At the mention of his name, the copper haired sage looked up, perplexed. "What are you—?"

She looked at him calmly, but was secretly—and desperately—hoping she was right. "You changed the day Kayll entered camp. Radically. It wasn't natural. You acted like you didn't remember all of our . . . arguments. What I said was true, Artur. You just didn't acknowledge it as the truth because Kayll had stolen you." She bit her lip and ordered the wetness crowding her eyes to retreat. Now was _not_ the time for tears.

"Stolen . . . me . . . ?" Artur frowned, looking utterly lost.

Lute's eyes swept in Kayll's direction. "Isn't that right?" She asked bitterly.

Kayll looked from Lute to Artur to Ewan and back again. "I don't know what you mean." She said slowly and calmly.

Lute turned sharply toward her. "Stop with the damn lies! It's too late for that now! Everyone knows! There's too much evidence against you for you to salvage whatever semblance of impartiality you had."

"Lute," Ephraim stepped forward. "Calm down. You don't need to prove anything. Your words are logical, albeit a bit hysterical. You can stop."

But Lute didn't hear him. "Damn you! You know your cover is blown, why don't you give up?! Why don't you just say it?! You're a gorgon that's pulled the wool over all of our eyes! Release Artur and Ewan from your hold and go back to your hole in the dirt!"

"I'm _not_ a gorgon." Kayll said coldly. "If anything, I'm a victim."

"Don't toy with me, dammit! You can't fool me! Maybe everyone else, but not me!" Lute screamed at her. "Show me what you can really do, Kayll, if that's even your real name! I know the basic things a gorgon can do, but what can one of remaining gorgons do? Show me!" Lute shouted out the ancient words and a white burst of light leapt at Kayll.

"Kayll, watch out!" Ewan shouted, half tempted to leap forward.

Kayll looked up at Lute with something like sorrow and regret in her suddenly open crimson eyes. She raised a hand and erected a shield of crackling black energy before her. The blast of Divine slammed into the shield, which wavered, but held. The magic dissipated and left complete silence in its wake. Lute was stunned. Divine, even as weak as it was, should have decimated the shield with its natural advantage and tendency for critical hits. But Kayll brushed off the attack as if it were nothing. And, perhaps to her, it was nothing.

Kayll looked at her with mournful eyes. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Kayll . . ." Ewan's mouth hung open and his eyes were wide with something akin to fear.

She looked over at him with eyes now devoid of life. She held his gaze for a few moments and then turned to Ephraim. She spoke in a low, emotionless voice that sounded haunted. "You would do best to prepare. Zinneth will know where I am now and she will stop at nothing to get me back. I'll leave and draw her away." With that said, Kayll turned on her heel and walked away.

Lute watched the girl's back as it disappeared from sight. She was both puzzled and satisfied in a guilty sort of way. She furrowed her brow, not sure what to make of the so-called enemy now.

Ewan glared at her. "Are you happy now?" He demanded.

Lute didn't know how to respond. She was in awe of the girl's power, almost frightened by it. She despised the thought of having a fiend in the ranks, but Ewan's argument rang in her ears. And for some odd reason, she felt a little guilty as she watched the solemn, broken retreat. But she was also relieved that whatever influence she'd had over Artur would wear off eventually. Lute stood still, the wind taken out of her sails.

Ewan looked around at the equally sober crowd. "Will nothing be done? Are you all just going to stand there? Do you realize what's she's doing for us? The people who met her with spite when she offered help?" He demanded of them with a voice quaking with rage.

Ephraim sighed and rubbed his temples. "Ewan, it appears we all are wrong on every—"

"She's putting herself out in the open for us!" Ewan shouted at them. "I may not know who this Zinneth person is, but I know she can't be good news for any of us. We've wronged Kayll in every sense of the word and now she's coming to our _aid_ when we definitely don't deserve it! Do you realize what kind of compassion that takes? Certainly nothing a _gorgon_ could possess." He spat the words at Lute, who flinched.

Saleh, who had stood beside him, rested a hand on his shoulder. "Ewan, please calm—"

"No! I'm not doing anything! She's not the fiend, you are! All of you! She's the only one who's acted human throughout all of this!" He shook his head angrily. "Sure she's been difficult to deal with, but so have we! She's come off as arrogant and cold, but that's only because she didn't want get hurt! She didn't want to give herself over to us so we could throw her away when we're finished, but she got hurt anyway!"

Saleh traded glances with Ephraim. Ephraim kept his gaze locked on Ewan's fiery one. Artur watched the boy whose shoulder he hung off of with amazement. Lute couldn't look at anyone. Eirika's eyes bore heavy regret as if she were the one to drive the girl away. Innes tried to keep his composure, but with Tana gripping his arm tightly and gnawing on her lower lip, he was reduced to a shamefaced expression. Even the ever-collected Seth looked away with remorse; he had thrown the girl out of a meeting on her rear.

"None of you have spent any time with her. None of you know who she really is. But I have and I know a little. You don't realize just how lonely she is." His voice was quieter, more somber. "You don't realize just how much she wants to be accepted, even though she'd never admit to it. And now she's all but sacrificing herself to give us time to prepare for whatever fiendish enemy is coming our way. Won't any of you do anything?"

Silence met his question and Ewan's resolve only hardened. He passed Artur off to Saleh. His scarlet eyes skimmed over the crowd again with disappointment. With a sharp nod he turned on his heel and strode over to Lute.

"I'll take that if you don't mind." He held a hand out for the tome.

Lute handed it over wordlessly.

Then, without another word, Ewan dashed off after Kayll.

* * *

**A/N: **Um, ouch. That hurts and wasn't even directed at me! Well, part two is nearly finished even as you read this and it is eagerly waiting to be posted next week. (sigh) Why do I have deadlines? I wanna post it now! And I'm sure many of you would agree with me! Oh well. Please review. 


	28. Taking off the Mask Part Two

**A/N: **Hello faithful readers! It's Saturday and you know what that means! A new chapter of By the Light of the Fire! (insert dramatic music here) Stay tuned for the special message at the end of the chapter! And now, without further ado, I present the second part of the exciting chapter, Taking off the Mask!! (insert opening theme "The Valiant")

* * *

**28) Taking off the Mast (Part Two)**

"Hmm, this is an interesting development." Zinneth mused aloud as she observed the goings-on in the mirror water.

"What is?" Ryfon asked from the spot where he was lounging.

"It appears I will not have to interfere after all." The gorgon said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Zahn asked gruffly.

"It appears that the violet female has driven Nianna away . . . and revealed her for what she truly is."

"What?!" Syn growled, baring his teeth.

"She was careless and used her magic in the ambush. The female saw her and exposed Nianna's power." Zinneth hissed. "She'll pay double for that. She never would have allowed herself to be disclosed like that before. Her time with the humans has softened her."

"I can take care of that." Drengar sneered from the corner of the cave.

Zinneth looked at him with distaste. "Indeed, you can. However, I find that any time she spends with you the more it taxes her power. She comes back to me used and broken. It takes many days to piece her back together. I will not allow her to be so weak at this point in time."

Drengar huffed, offended. "I can be gentle."

"Hah! You are about as gentle as a rock. You are all about power and neglect to consider how your actions affect others." Zinneth shook her head, her scaly locks swaying. "No, I will keep Nianna in my company and strengthen her in my own way."

Drengar crossed his muscled arms and scowled. "You just cannot allow me my fun, can you?"

Zinneth's eyes were cutting. "You will have the female. Leave Nianna out of your . . . activities. Did I not tell you to never speak about that in my presence?"

Drengar grunted. "You were not so put off by it when I first suggested it."

"That was because Nianna was a weak little thing. No backbone at all. A hatchling." Zinneth paused. "I think handing her over to you was a mistake. Your rough treatment is probably what caused her to flee."

"My rough treatment?" He echoed with incredulity. "You were the one pushing her everyday for improvement on her magic! If anyone, it was you that drove her away."

From his corner, Zahn growled lowly. "I wish you two wouldn't talk about the past like that. We were not resurrected then. It makes me feel like I am missing out on a great deal."

Ryfon turned to the unruly head. "You should consider us lucky, Zahn. King Fomortiis thought of us as the strongest gwyllgi there is. That is why he kept us hidden in our slumber. We would be able to deliver the final blow should he fall."

Zahn curled his lip. "I do not see why _he_ was allowed to awaken early with Zinneth. Why did he not have to wait with the rest of us?"

"Because," Drengar answered in a smug tone. "I can carry a variety of weapons and I can traverse the battlefield with ease. I am the ideal bodyguard. Gorgons," Here he gave a horsy grin. "Are easy to pick off once one is close enough. It was my job taking down anything that got too close. Of course, since we were the strongest of our clans, King Fomortiis usually kept us within the Woods."

Zinneth sighed. "Getting back to the point of our discussion, Nianna has left the humans. Now is a perfect time to collect her. And, while we are at it, we can try our hand at capturing the female. But, remember, the focus of this mission, if you will, is to get Nianna. _Nianna_." She repeated while shooting a look at the overeager maelduin general. "The female is just a bonus. She is not as important as Nianna. If we can grab her, that's all very well. But do _not_ try if it isn't worth the risk. Did you hear me, Drengar?"

The fiend nodded his head distractedly. "Yes, yes. I hear you."

Zahn rolled his eyes and Syn snorted. Ryfon shook his head. "What forces do you wish to have?" the first head asked.

Zinneth pondered over the question for a moment. "Gather a troop of your mauthe doogs, have your captain lead them. I will contact Halin and ask if it will spare a troop of its mogalls."

"Is the arch mogall likely to cooperate?" Syn asked.

Zinneth stroke one of her serpentine tresses with a single claw. "It should. It does not have a reason not to. I have found that most of the generals are rather easy to deal with. Although, there are exceptions like Pedirot. He fights me at every inch."

Zahn snorted. "Those flying apes have a tendency to rebel. It is a wonder that they are able to organize themselves."

Syn curled his lip in a show of silent laughter.

Ryfon, the more collected of the two heads, nodded towards Zinneth. "I will see to it that Sithca will lead the mauthe doog troop."

"Good. We move out immediately."

Ryfon-Zahn-Syn stood and dashed out of the cave.

"What of me, Zinneth?" The maelduin general asked.

"You will stay with me and take up your previous station as bodyguard." She told him.

He seemed less than happy about that, but as long as he had a chance to swipe up the pretty little female he would do as she said.

* * *

"Kayll! Kayll! Wait!" 

She ignored the calls, blocking out the sound, and ran on. Yes, she had to resort to running. _Why couldn't he just have stayed behind? They made it perfectly clear that they didn't want me around. Why couldn't he just have accepted that and left me alone? Why couldn't he have allowed me a clean break? Why did he have to come back and make it jagged?_

And it was true. When she had left the camp there had been an odd, surreal feeling of resolution. There hadn't been any wild feelings of outrage or sorrow. There had been only one thought. _Well, I guess that's that. _Her path was set before her. She knew what she had to do. She didn't need to concentrate on the disastrous scene behind her because that's what it was: behind her. She accepted this for what it was: a clean break like fruit freshly parted with a knife.

But then Ewan just _had_ to go after her.

That was when the emotions of outrage and sorrow rose, rearing up their ugly heads. Now, she was remembering the _looks_ that had been shot at her. Now, she was remembering the words that had been screamed at her. The wild accusations. The curses and challenges. And all of her secrets spilling out with the background music of her world shattering—something only she heard.

Now, her path was wavering, transforming into a split road. She had two choices now. She could use her Stone and leave Ewan behind or she could confront him. At the moment she was choosing Road A, she just hadn't gotten to the Stone part yet.

"Kayll! Kaaaayyyyll! Wait!"

_No, Ewan. Please, turn around. I don't want to do this. Turn around. Turn around._

But her Persuasion didn't work unless she had contact of some sort, whether it was eye contact or physical contact. In rare cases, spiritual contact. Right now she wanted to turn around, hold his eye, and implant the thought of returning to camp like she had implanted the thoughts of sleep when he was wounded. But catching his gaze or even turning around to face him would mean another brush with the life—no, existence that she had among humans. Right now, she didn't want to deal with a remainder of the life she was walking away from.

_Life? What life?_

She almost stopped. Almost.

_I don't have a life among them. I simply existed alongside them. I have no ties to them. I have to keep going, walk my path, see this wretched journey through to the end. Looking back now would ruin all my chances of moving on with my . . . existence in this world._

"Kayll! Stop! Please, wait! Kaaaayyyyll! Don't go! _Please, don't go!_"

The desperation in his voice struck her harder than she had expected. She stopped. She hadn't meant to, but it had happened. She stopped and stared at the sloping horizon before her. Her mind still continued to scream _run!_ at her. The jagged break was tearing at her, the pain telling her to stop her vain struggles. It was much like crawling through a broken class window. The sharp edges of the shattered glass dug into your skin, preventing your escape. You could either back away from the window and tend to your wounds or you could charge on through, allowing the glass to rip your flesh. But in the end you were free. Right now, Kayll was caught somewhere in between, stuck with the serrated edges of glass imbedded in her flesh.

"Kayll." His voice grew closer, became relieved, and spoke between pants. "Kayll—you—you stopped." He tried to smile, his hands braced on his knees. "Thank—you."

Kayll continued to stare at the horizon, which was gray in the early morning. If she continued to walk in that direction, she could be halfway to her place of origin, as she referred to it, and hopefully the hell that was her existence would finally, _finally_ end. The thought was oddly relieving and she found herself wondering why she had stopped in the first place.

The panting beside her reminded her.

Oh, yes. Ewan.

Her blood-red eyes narrowed.

_Ewan. _

"Kayll, I just wanted to say—"

"No."

He blinked. "No?" He echoed, perplexed.

"No." She repeated, the word just as frigid as it had been the first time she had said it.

"But—"

"_No._"

He straightened from his half crouch and scowled. Anger flared to life in his claret eyes. "How can you say that?!" He demanded. "I stood up for you back there, for your information. I defended you. I made them all see how wrong they were to—"

"Ewan," She said frostily, turning to him. Her eyes buried themselves in his own and she realized for the first time that the colors mirrored each other. "I said _no_."

The fire in his eyes died away and he could only stare at her blankly for a moment.

"Go home." Kayll told him simply, a trace of bittersweet envy leaking into her voice.

"But, I . . ." His head tilted to the side in puzzlement.

She shook her head and turned away. She began walking again, down her path towards her still-far away conclusion. But, apparently, the break in eye contact also broke the Persuasion.

"Kayll!" Ewan reached out and caught her arm. "Don't take another step." His voice was uncharacteristically serious and firm, angry again.

She paused to humor him. "What do you want, Ewan?" Kayll asked evenly, slowly.

"I just want you to know that I made them see who the true fiend was."

She quirked an eyebrow and shot him a curious, sidelong look.

He smiled weakly at her. "You were never the fiend. You were never the enemy. In fact, I think you were the only human one among us." Ewan's eyes turned pleading. "Please come back. We need you."

She stared at him for a long moment with emotion neither on the outside nor on the inside. "No. I can't." She said softly.

And that was truth of it. The only direction she could go was straight back to the monsters that gave her the existence she had now. She couldn't go back because the consequences were too devastating.

"I tried to help, but I only made it worse."

The crimson fire returned to his eyes. "_You_ didn't do anything to make the situation worse. That was all Lute. And you _did_ try to help, that's why you should come back. We could use an ally like you."

Kayll ripped her arm from his grasp and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Is that all I am anymore?" She hissed at him. "An object of power? Is that all I'll ever be?"

Ewan blinked, stunned at the transformation. "Kayll . . . what are you talking about?" His voice was soft with bafflement.

She shook her head, feeling the urge to laugh. "My whole existence is about what I can _do_. My whole purpose for this world is to be a device. Nothing else matters. I'm an _object. _A tool." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Nothing more, nothing less."

He shook his head vehemently. "No! You aren't any of those things. You're _not_ an object. You're a person, a hu—" Ewan stopped abruptly and looked up at her uncertainly, questioningly.

And Kayll wanted to laugh again, bitterly. She wanted to laugh at her life, which was, apparently, a joke. It was all a joke, a game. And she was failing. She had an objective in life, a plan set out for her. But when she ran away from Zinneth all those months ago, she changed all of that. And now she was paying for her disobedience by suffering through a confrontation with a human who had a heart. It was through that that she found all of it didn't matter anymore. Nothing she'd had with the humans mattered anymore because she was going back to her existence as a tool, was going back to the plan. Everything was safe in the mildest sense of the word when she was with the fiends. Everything went according to plan in a controlled environment. There were no variables like Ewan to mess it up.

"Kayll . . . are you—? Are you—I don't mean—"

"No, stop." She said with only a hint at the hysteria she was recovering from in her voice.

Finally having enough, Ewan exploded. She'd never seen him go on a rampage before, so it was quite startling.

"No! _You_ stop!" He shouted. "Stop and _listen_ to me! Okay?! Just for a few minutes listen to me!"

"Okay, Ewan." She said quietly.

His expression froze and a mixture of relief and shock crossed his face. "Right. I just—I wanted to say . . ." He sighed and looked at her. "Kayll, I care, all right? I care and I hate it when you turn away like this. You're so lonely . . . I just want to show you what happiness is. You don't seem to have ever experienced it before. I just want to know why you're so cold most of the time. And once I find out why, I swear I'll fix it." He paused and simply looked at her with all the sincerity he could muster.

She stared back passively. "Why . . . Why do you say things like that?" Kayll asked softly, both confused and curious.

"Because I care . . . about you." He asked tentatively.

All of the rage she had gather and reserved for the fiends, for all that they had done to her, was unleashed upon the unsuspecting boy.

_SMACK!_

"No! _Don't _say that! Stop _lying!_"

Ewan, stumbling back a few steps, held a hand to his burning face. He was beyond stunned. He simply stared at her and her wild blood-red eyes. He took his hand away as the pain receded and numbness set in.

"But, I _do_ care."

"_No!_" She screamed at him. "No, you _don't!_ I saw it! I saw the look in your eyes when I made that shield! You were afraid of me. You _feared_ me! You don't care. No one cares. No one _can_ care! I'm a tool! You can't have compassion for a tool! You shouldn't _feel_ anything—!"

His fury, rising yet again, overcame his shock. He grabbed her wrists as she tried to strike him again. "But I _do_ feel, Kayll. I _do_ care. The shield—it startled me. I didn't realize what Lute was saying was true."

"You see! You believe her! You think that I—that I'm one of _them_! You don't care! I'm only a monster in your eyes!" She struggle feebly against his hold and hoped that he didn't realize just how weak she was beneath her rapidly diminishing shell.

"Kayll,"

His voice made her look up at him.

"Are you? . . . One of them?"

She looked away. She couldn't speak.

"Kayll? Are you?"

"Simpletons cannot reason beyond what they see first."

She had said these words before when Ewan had questioned her change in behavior by being "friendly" with Artur. He hadn't understood the hidden message in those words back then, but he seemed to now.

His grip on her wrists relaxed. "Then why do you let what Lute said get to you? If it's not true, why bother with it?"

She sighed, closing her eyes. He was asking too many questions that were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She had to do something about this now. She didn't want to use her magic against him. She never had and that was something that had begun to bother her.

"Ewan," Kayll told him in a quiet, collected voice. "If you leave now and forget about me, I won't have to force you to." Her eyes were still closed, so she missed the hurt flash across his face.

"Kayll, I don't want to . . ."

Her jaw clenched. "Ewan, don't try my patience. I _will_ make you leave and I _will_ make you forget me. I'm being gracious by giving you a choice. There is something I must do. Hopefully, I can stop all of this. But, if I can't do what needs to be done, there will be consequences. Now, release me and please go home. Be grateful that you have one."

He did release her wrists, but he didn't leave. "But, Kayll, remember. I'm an orphan." There was a weak smile in his voice.

She smirked, shaking her head. "A home in the hearts of the people who care about you. I would hate for you to lose that." She looked up at him. "Why won't you leave? Are you worried about me?"

He nodded after a second's hesitation.

"I can manage on my own. I have done so for a few years; that's as far back as I can remember."

"Kayll . . . I want the truth. Who are you? What do you have anything to do with the fiends? How come you know so much?" She could see the old, curious Ewan emerging again.

"I can't tell you that."

"Okay, then. How about this: Lute said you influenced Artur?"

She exhaled a breath as sour reluctance churned in her stomach. ". . . Yes. It's called Persuasion. I can take a thought and implant it within someone's mind. If my want is strong enough, they'll usually act accordingly. However, I must have contact. It can be through physical contact or simply eye contact. That's how I Persuaded Artur to, ah, befriend me: through eye contact. Although, I never intended for him to have such strong . . . affections for me. I assume my influence reacted badly with his previous fondness for Lute and inadvertently directed those emotions my way." She tried to plaster a lopsided smile on her face. It didn't work.

"Did you . . . ?" He paused and uncertainty flashed through his eyes.

She knew what he was going to ask and intervened before he could. "You know, Ewan, sometimes the dream is prettier than reality. Sometimes lies are more comfort than the truth."

But that only seemed to strengthen his resolve. "I want to. I don't want there to be any lies between us. Did you ever use that power on me?"

She looked down at her hands. "I never wanted to."

"So—so everything . . . it was all just your will? This—you mean I don't really . . . ?"

"No, Ewan, wait. I only used my Persuasion when you wouldn't rest while recovering from your wound . . . and when you asked too many questions that hit too close to home." He only watched her warily. "Whatever you . . . feel . . . or think about me is your own. I never tampered with that." She added quickly. "I was selfish. I valued the truth too much and therefore left you alone."

"Why?"

She smiled, just a slight curve in her lips. "Because what you saw _was_ the truth. I could never take that away. No one has ever seen me like that before. Not one." She inhaled and huffed out a breath, gathering her determination. "Now, will you please let me go?"

He bit his lower lip and glanced away for a second. "If—if you have to leave, at least . . . at least tell me one more thing." There was finality in his voice, an acceptance and a resolution. She knew she was going to get what she wanted at last, but she realized that neither one of them truly wanted that anymore.

"Very well."

Ewan raised his eyes to hers. "Did . . . did you ever care?"

She knew what he was asking and she was unwilling to answer. Kayll lowered her head, closing her eyes halfway in an expression of reminiscence. She turned her body away from him to face the horizon again. Finally she said:

"I did."

* * *

"Artur, I think . . . I think I was wrong about her." Lute said softly. 

"Mm, maybe." He replied just as softly, running a hand through her lavender locks.

They were in the healer's tent and Artur was resting again. He was upright on the cot, his legs stretched out before him. Lute had found a roughly made stool and sat in it next to him. Her head, propped up by her folded arms, was lying on the thin, feather-stuffed mattress. Artur, finally liberated from Kayll's influence, couldn't resist touching the silky purple tresses. Lute had been telling him about how he had acted while under the girl's spell; he couldn't remember what all had happened and was quickly finding his previous behavior appalling.

They were quite oblivious to the action occurring around them. After Ewan had dashed off and left them thoroughly abashed, Ephraim hadn't questioned Kayll's word and had begun gathering his soldiers. Everyone who had witnessed the confrontation—which was many—grouped in their teams with shameful expressions on their faces. They had all come to suspect Kayll's motives and had been behind Lute all the way when she had verbally decimated Kayll's lies and fronts, revealing the truth. But Ewan hit them hard with the purest truth. Despite Kayll's fronts and lies, she _did_ try to help them. And they hadn't seen the offer of help for what it truly was.

"I don't know why, but . . ." Lute sighed. "I just . . . I feel guilty about this. You'd think I'd finally be satisfied now that I've gotten what I've wanted, but I'm not."

"Good." Artur said, his voice relieved.

She blinked in confusion and looked up at him from her place lounging on the edge of the cot. "What's good?"

He smiled down at her. "It's good that you don't feel satisfied. It's good that you feel guilty, perhaps even wonderful."

Lute still didn't know where he was going with this. "Why is that so wonderful?"

"It proves that you have a heart."

"What? Did it seem like I didn't?" Lute asked, a little hurt at the implied accusation.

A look of panic dashed across his face. "No!" Artur insisted quickly. "I mean, well . . . it kind of seemed like—but you aren't!" He groaned in frustration. "Even if I was under her influence, I still think you were rather, ah, rough."

"Oh, Artur! I was worse than that!" She exclaimed. "I was brutal, wicked! I was atrocious!"

"Now, now. I think that's taking it a bit far." He told her, a bit taken aback.

"I was jealous!" She continued. "I mean, when you woke up, you asked about _her_. I was right there, but you asked about _her_. . ."

"I still feel horrible about that."

". . . And I guess . . . I guess that's where I lost it." Lute finished with remorse. "I had had it with her and her—her _magic_, but I never thought that I'd feel guilty about it."

"I think I was the cause of all this." Artur said dismally.

"No! No, you weren't the cause of this. Neither was Kayll. There was a lot of miscommunication, that's all. What with all of the lies, the switched personalities, the anger, everything was misunderstood." Lute closed her eyes. "I wish this hadn't ended this way."

Artur sighed, his fingers still gliding through her hair. "As do I, Lute. As do I."

* * *

Kayll suddenly stiffened. 

Ewan, frowning, looked at her curiously.

She looked over at him quickly, eyes wide and worried. "Ewan,"

"Yeah?"

She glanced to the horizon again. "Prepare yourself." She whispered.

"Huh?"

Kayll pointed. In the distance a mass of black reared up like a wave, sweeping across the land. It moved toward them slowly, but surely. Ewan's grip tightened on the tome in his hands.

* * *

(insert ending theme "Epilogue") 

**A/N: And now for an extra special message! **

Hi, everybody! It's me, your favorite author, Twilight! (Or at least I hope so!) I would like to announce there are only five short days until my birthday! Yay! The best present any of you could give me is a review! If you review, you'll get cake and ice cream!! Okay, see you!

**And this conclude this week's chapter! Tune in next time!**


	29. Capture

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the birthday wishes! Cake and ice cream all around! It's a wonder I still have any left! Anyway, this chapter was so long that I actually had to **cut out a scene**. (horrified gasps) I know, it's awful. But I know _someone_ would have complained about length. I'm not pointing fingers, it's just a fact of life. Besides, I'll be surprised if no one comes after me with a torch and a pitchfork. It's longer than usual, but I think it's well worth it.

**Warning: **Please keep your hands and feet in the chapter at all times. Also, buckle your safety harness. Emergency exits are in the top right hand corner labeled with an "X". We recommend that you do not use the emergency exits and wait for the chapter to stop. No food and drinks will be allowed near the computers; we wouldn't want you to short circuit and crash. Thank you and enjoy the chapter! (repeats in spanish)

* * *

**29) Capture**

The tent flap rustled and Ephraim came into view. He was in full armor and even held his usual steel lance; he was saving the awesome power of Siegmund for later. The prince's expression was slightly absent as he made his way over to Artur's cot.

"Natasha told me you wanted a word with me?"

The sage nodded. "I want to join the battle."

A teal eyebrow rose skeptically. "Really? Can you walk?"

Artur opened and shut his mouth repeatedly for a few seconds. Finally, he sighed. ". . . No."

Ephraim's mouth quirked into a sympathetic smile. "Well, then, I'm sorry to say you can't join us."

Artur set his jaw. "You need my magic."

The Renais prince nodded hesitantly. "It would be a great help, but I'm not sending you into battle when you can't walk."

"Then set me atop of a horse! I'll be fine there! Or let me ride double with Lute!" Artur protested, clenching the sheets around him with fisted hands.

Ephraim closed his eyes momentarily. "I know you're worried about her, but she's smart Artur. She won't let the fiends get the best of her. I may not be able to guarantee anything, but my confidence in her is unwavering." Teal eyes looked down at him admonishingly. "You should have the same confidence and trust in her."

Artur looked away, abashed. "I—I do. It's just . . ."

The other man nodded. "You worry anyway, I understand. She's a prodigy, Artur, she'll be fine. Try not to worry too much. We'll back before you know it." Ephraim looked at his lance as he swirled it lazily in the air. "Now, I should probably get going. The only way you can help us is by staying here at camp, healing any of the wounded that come in. I'll talk with you later."

Artur slumped against the pillows as Ephraim walked away. He glared at his lame leg and cursed silently at it. Of all times to be bedridden, it _had_ to be now! He leaned forward to massage the rising ache. Artur glanced over at the wooden cane Natasha had placed by his bed. She had said to stay off his feet for another few days, but . . .

He shook his head. No, he'd only do more damage to his leg if he pushed himself this early. The still-tender muscles would strain themselves keeping him upright and the few hours afterward would be less than unpleasant. He didn't want that. He'd just have to sit tight and avoid the tongue-lashing he would have received for pulling such a stunt. Artur lied back and stared at the tarp above him.

Lute was out there right now . . .

But just as Ephraim had said, Lute was smart and she was excellent with magic. She'd be all right. She'd be just fine. And he wouldn't envy the weariness which the troops would return with. Having just mastering an ambush, they were already tired. Being sent out to defend camp would make them drop dead tired.

Artur just wished he wouldn't feel so useless. He was still able to fight. Granted, he needed help with getting out there . . . He would just have to settle with healing the wounded when they came back. At least then he'd have something to do. He might not be as good with a healing staff as he would with a Lightning tome, but he could mend gashes and heal broken bones easily enough.

He sighed and dragged his pillow over his head. It was going to be a long wait.

* * *

The wave of fiends was upon them before they could register the attack. Snarling mauthe doogs lunged out in trios and clusters of mogall forces cast their wicked magic. The monsters that would have been easy pickings only months ago where now proving difficult to defeat. Ewan cast bursts of Divine one after another. He was aware of Kayll doing . . . something and found out just what that was when he collided with a petrified mauthe doog. Using the object to his advantage, Ewan ducked behind his new shield. They were surrounded by demon hounds and floating eyes imbued with dark magic. If help didn't come soon, they would more likely than not become brunch for the monstrosities.

Ewan briefly wondered if this wild cocktail of desperation and adrenaline was what the units in the ambush felt.

He wasn't sure how long Lute's Divine tome would last, but he hoped there was a good amount of strikes left in the book before it became useless to him. Ewan wasn't entirely sure why, but he wasn't feeling too confident about this battle unlike all of the previous ones he had fought in.

He grabbed a quick glance at Kayll and suppressed a shudder. The air around her crackled with black energy and her eyes were luminous, reminding him of the crimson moon that had hung in the sky only scant hours ago. Her blue-violet hair whipped around her as she twisted and turned, obliterating the abominations as easily as if she were shooing away bloodthirsty mosquitoes in the summer heat. Despite the fact that her magical attributes were equal with those of the fiends, she was vanquishing them far too easily.

It unnerved him.

And that only made him grow angry with himself. He had nothing to fear from Kayll. She was his friend, he was confident of that. Simply because she wielded Dark magic didn't mean he should doubt her. Knoll used Dark magic too, and he was their ally. But Knoll wasn't here. He was targeted, previously wounded, and was dismissed from service until the threat was gone. However, Ewan was targeted too . . . and the fiends seemed only interested in Kayll.

It was a curious observation and it almost cost him as a hellhound leapt at him. He diminished it to ash with a burst Divine.

He frowned. Were the fiends no longer interested in their supposed revenge?

Ewan snuck a glance at Kayll. Or had their crosshairs turned on a different target with a different objective in mind?

* * *

Lute was making last minute preparations. She had an elixir, she had Fimbulvetr and Bolting with her, and she had an antidote for poison with her. In her experience, the worst thing to face in battle—other than being put to sleep by those damnable enemy priests and being petrified by the accursed gorgons—was being poisoned by a bael. It was the most painful thing she'd come across on the battlefield. The poison was slow to kill, but quick to drive the victim to suicide to stop the sensation of being burned alive. When one of those monstrous spiders loomed over you, so close that you could see the poison dripping from fangs as long as your forearm, you knew you would either die or be poisoned.

A small shudder made her body tremble. She understood why Artur was so terrified by the beasts . . . but she couldn't say the same for his irrational fear of the tiny spiders that had often "found" their way into Artur's living quarters. Lute bit her lips to keep from smiling. They would have to work on that later, after this mess was cleaned up.

Lute scanned the contents of her tent again. Her lilac colored eyes landed on a small, poorly bound, frail book resting on top of a pile near her bedroll. She had never taken it with her into battle. She had never even thought about it. Yet, looking at it now, Lute felt a sudden urge to take it with her. She crossed the distance between herself and the book and reached down to pick it up, mindful of the fragile condition.

This thin, little book was actually a project she had been working on. She had read somewhere in a book, whose title she had long forgotten, that it was possible to create your own magical tomes. She had pounced on the opportunity and tried it. Over a couple years and many months, she had figured out how to instill her own energy into the rune marked pages.

It was more of a ritual than anything else, really. She'd had to cover herself nearly head to toe with runes inked onto her skin. The rest of the ritual consisted of a deep meditation much like the one Saleh went into when he did his Valega exercises. In this meditative state, she had focused on transferring her energy to the rune-marked parchment. Her first dozen or so attempts had failed miserably. In the second dozen, only half had been absorbed into the paper. She had persevered nonetheless. Over time, she had transferred enough energy into the worn-out little book to obtain a few attacks before its magic ran out.

Lute stared hard at the small, obviously handmade book. Something, some ominous feeling, made her tuck the book between the layers of light plate armor and the thick leather vest she wore during battle. She didn't question instinct; it was how she had become so knowledgeable.

Finally deciding she was ready, the mage knight exited her tent, collected her mount, and joined her team. Garcia was sharpening his axe with a whetstone when she approached. Vanessa offered her a small smile and continued scratching her pegasus behind her ears. Innes nodded at her as he checked the fletching on his arrows, a grim expression on his face. She could dimly hear Kyle muttering, yet again, to Forde, who seemed comfortable enough to take a pre-battle nap.

She halted by Innes, absently stroking her horse's short mane. "Are we to set out in a few minutes, Prince Innes?"

Innes examined the feathers on the bolt before setting it aside, finding something faulty with the alignment of the vanes. "Very soon, Lute. As soon as Ephraim gives us the okay." From his tone of voice, he didn't sound too happy about waiting for Ephraim's preference in time.

She felt the same.

"If we wait around any longer, I'm sure to go out of mind." Lute muttered.

Innes smirked and attached the quiver to his belt rather than his back. Lute knew that when the arrows were within easy reach, vulnerability to attack decreased.

"Yes, I'm sure everyone is ready to burst out onto the field, yelling hysterically, stark-raving mad. But then, I think we're already slightly insane for having lasted through this disaster this long. No sane person could." Innes gestured to Forde, still dozing despite the stern words being mutter into his ear. "Does that look like a person of sound mind? Sleeping before, during, and after a battle?" He chuckled as he shook his head.

Lute smiled in response, but it soon faded when she looked out over the horizon. She knew the danger lay out there, just beyond the dips and slopes in the terrain.

"How are we to fight an enemy stronger than us? More intelligent than we ever gave them credit for? They have their own language, they can think like the brightest strategist, they are indefinitely stronger than their brethren we last faced—how can we possibly win? They, no doubt, have us outnumbered even if there are fewer of them than the last time. I admit I'm apprehensive about facing a general. Though, someone among us must have already done so. I believe we have eliminated two generals. Did you notice how the vast majority of them were wights and entombed with their lesser cousins?"

Innes studied her, staring hard at her as she spoke with a fierce scowl on his face. When she had finished, he looked out at the stretch of land before them. "They may be stronger and they may be smarter, but I'll have none this 'we're doomed, woe is me' talk." He shot a sharp look in her direction. "It's bad enough some of our spirits are low. I shouldn't be needlessly worrying that our most determined prodigy with the biggest superiority complex I've ever come across is predicting our downfall."

He might not have intended for her to grin, but she did. Innes, in his own arrogant, snide way, lifted her spirits. She showed her gratefulness with a nod of her head. Innes only smirked in return.

* * *

The mass of fiends parted as Zinneth made her way towards Nianna. Drengar, beside her, walked with anticipation that tensed the air around them. The mauthe doogs fell back immediately, stilling as the gorgon passed them by. Zinneth noticed a flame haired male youth beside her with a determined visage. This altered the plan slightly, but the male could be easily taken care of. Zinneth's eyes found Nianna's and the blood-red orbs seemed to mirror the other exactly.

The gorgon general smirked as the girl froze, hatred blazing in her eyes. "Ah, Nianna, my pet, you have been very disobedient: straying so far from me."

"Do not call me that!" She shouted.

Zinneth's eyes flashed and her face contorted into a snarl. The girl stiffened. "You will not speak to me in such a way! You shall be punished for this treasonous act and will not speak a word in protest!"

Nianna said nothing, but the mutiny remained in her ruby eyes.

The fighting had stopped quite suddenly, though no one noticed. The boy was looking from Nianna to Zinneth in obvious confusion. The gorgon smirked, knowing he couldn't understand what was being said. She slithered forward and rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. It was rigid beneath her scaly touch.

"Nianna, did you really think you could win them over? Did you actually believe they would love you?"

The girl flinched as if struck. She tore her eyes away and stared at the ground, her hair falling into her face. Zinneth had scored a tender spot. She always did this when Nianna proved difficult because it always worked.

The male, only a few feet away, spoke out in the disgusting, guttural language his kind possessed. His tone was confused and wary. There was also an undercurrent of anger beneath it all. Zinneth surmised he was asking Nianna who the apparently superior fiends were. Nianna replied in the same tongue, somehow making it sound more pleasing to the ear with her faint accent. The boy turned his burgundy eyes to Zinneth, who mused if the boy could wield the power of Stone she might have been what so many of her victims were now. He barked out a long accusation which only succeeded in boring her.

"Nianna, child, you will get rid of the male now. Send him back to his kind. We only want you this time." Zinneth ordered in her soft, whispery tone.

Her wayward servant only looked up at her defiantly, shrugging off the hand. "_You_ tell him that. I cannot make him." She said smugly.

Zinneth frowned. "And why not?"

"He is immune to Persuasion." She explained. "I cannot force him to do anything."

The general sensed that not everything Nianna had said was true, but Zinneth would have more fun if she played along. "Then he is also immune to Possession, correct? Somehow, I do no think that is possible. I would like to test this theory."

Nianna's crimson eyes widened. "No!"

"_Yes._" Zinneth hissed the word softly. She turned to the youth, studying the scrawny male with a critical eye. "No, I have changed my mind. He will not leave quite yet."

The gorgon general and the magic user locked gazes. Zinneth loathed Possessing a human; their minds were so very dull. She felt herself falling as if through space. She felt his soul, his essence that defined him as who he was. From the outside, she watched a peculiar expression cross his face. Latching onto the presence which was very much like a wispy fire or a cloud of smoke, intangible but able to hold a form, Zinneth welded a piece of her soul to his.

The spiritual contact caused him to cry out. She felt his revulsion toward the alien feeling of two psyches pressed against each other. He fought her, trying to back away. Zinneth gripped his spirit tightly and dove into his mind, the source of all function. This intrusion was much like a thief breaking into a castle to hold the king hostage. By threatening the king, he had control of the situation. However, she did not hold his mind hostage.

She became one with it.

Her essence conformed to all of the contours, sinking into every nook and cranny, prying open locked memories and emotions. She left nothing alone, searching everything, disregarding his protests, and prizing open every barrier with her presence. There was no place within himself she couldn't go.

Bluntly put, she raped him spiritually and mentally.

She could feel his soul shudder and wild fear entered his mind. She relished this power. She had total dominance. She had control. And nothing he did could force her away.

On the outside, in her own physical body where the majority of her being was, she could see him trembling. His claret eyes were wide with shock, stunned. She smirked. She knew he would never have thought he could be violated in this manner. So pleased was she that the physical attacks Nianna launched on her went ignored. For a minute or two, at least.

Zinneth turned sharply to her, scowling fiercely. "Away from me, you troublesome wretch!" She shrugged the girl away.

Nianna, rage in her fiery eyes, leapt toward her again, fists swinging, nails raking the tender scaly flesh around Zinneth's wrists and at the junction of her elbow. "Let. Him. Go!" She screamed.

Zinneth pushed her to the ground and straightened to her full height. "This is part of your punishment, Nianna. You will watch this boy, who is so very fond of you. You will watch him squirm beneath my power. And you will do nothing about it."

"No! I will not let you!" Nianna screamed again, lunging for Zinneth's fleshy and so very vulnerable throat.

But muscled arms caught her around the waist and pulled her to an equally muscled gray chest. Drengar smirked down at her in sick pleasure as the fear entered her eyes. "My, my, you are quite feisty today, are you not?" Drengar chuckled and reached around to stroke her cheek.

Nianna screeched and suddenly the scene exploded in black flames. Drengar shouted in alarm and released her immediately, escaping the demonic fire with only mild burns. Nianna straightened, panting, limbs quivering with incomprehensible rage. Zinneth frowned, unscathed only because of her distance and her power. The attack was purely Dark magic, but it had caused damage to the maelduin general. Slight though the wounds may be, it took energy and power beyond Nianna's skill to injure a fiend general with Dark magic.

How had Nianna gained such power?

"_Do not_ touch me." She spoke raggedly, her words wavering with the emotion in her voice.

Drengar, briefly examining the burns on his arms, looked quite offended. And murderously possessive. His crimson tail lashed angrily.

The boy shivered in her grasp again, drawing Zinneth's attention momentarily. The mind numbing fear that had been consuming him at a moderate rate had engulfed him entirely upon seeing Nianna's unholy attack. She felt a sneer grace her serpentine face.

"Impressive, Nianna." She murmured. "Very impressive. But . . . can you do it again?"

The girl with blue-violet hair glared and Zinneth wondered if she was contemplating using her Stone on the general.

"Could you do it again and risk putting your dear 'friend' into a prolonged slumber?"

Nianna stared at her harshly. "What are you talking about?" She asked coldly.

"I believe the human term for it is 'coma.' Would you risk that?" Zinneth asked. "I believe the turmoil he is suffering through added with the fright you gave him with your last attack would be enough to push him over the edge."

"What are you saying?!" She demanded.

"I am saying, pet, that he does not care for you like you think he does." She sneered. "He fears you as he should. You are not wholly human. He does not understand you, child. And from my experience with humans, I know that they destroy the things they fear, they shun the things they do not understand. No one could ever love a monster, Nianna. I told you that before."

If the girl could go any stiffer, she would have. However, at the moment, Nianna was coiled tighter than any spring had ever been. Zinneth could sense her rage and frustration rising. It was only a matter of time before she unleashed another attack with similar power as the first.

"You lie! You do not know anything about him!"

"You are not the one in contact with his soul. I think I know everything there is about this human." She glanced over at the boy who was gasping for breath, the sweat rolling down his face in waves, his pupils contracted to pinpoints. If he weren't so paralyzed with horror, she knew he would have screamed a sound awful enough to wake the dead.

"And he is just like all of the others." She continued. "Pathetic, weak, and so very disappointing. He is not even putting up a fight." Zinneth moved closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The human male, overwhelmed by the sensation Zinneth's presence touching him physically, converging with him spiritually, and immersed within him mentally, cried out and collapsed to the ground. It was a weak, pathetic sound that carried only a fraction of the chaos within him. He lay there, shaking and trembling, confused and terrified, on the ground before the gorgon general. Never in her existence had she felt such a strong desire to spit upon a creature before her. Sickened by his frailness, she relinquished her hold on him, withdrawing from him entirely.

"Ewan!"

So the pathetic thing huddled before her had a name. Zinneth shook her head and joined Drengar a few feet away.

The maelduin was impatient. This capture was taking too long. He enjoyed watching the human weakling succumb to Zinneth's power, but he was impatient. Zinneth held the reins here. Drengar grimaced at the unintentional pun. He surveyed the area around them and grinned too widely for the expression to be considered "happy."

"Zinneth, I believe we have company." He muttered, his tone belying his composure.

The gorgon general looked up and spotted the group of six humans hurrying towards them. "Humans. They are always getting in the way. I should like to be rid of them, particularly this party, for good. But, that will come later. We will have our revenge, yet. For now," She turned to look at Nianna. The girl was on the ground beside the boy called Ewan. She was whispering something frantically in the human's disgusting tongue. "We will collect what rightfully belongs to us and leave."

But Drengar shook his head obstinately. "No, the female who speaks the Voice is in this group." He shot her a sidelong glance. "We could save time and pick her up before we leave."

Zinneth shook her head sharply, her tresses hissing her protest. "No. They will fight. Ryfon-Zahn-Syn will be very displeased if I return with a small fraction of the troop I left with."

"Promise him a position in the next attack and he will pardon you." Drengar said shortly, eager to join the fray that was already forming.

Zinneth was silent for several moments. She gave a long-suffering sigh and relented. "Try if it is possible. But if you are wounded gravely, do not expect me to sew you up."

Drengar was gone before she had finished.

She shook her head and slithered toward Nianna. "Come, pet, let us go home."

Nianna stood swiftly. "No! I am not going back with you! I am not going anywhere!"

Zinneth hissed softly. "You will return with me without protest or the boy dies. Do not test me, Nianna. I will kill him before you can draw a single breath. And I will kill the other humans coming to his rescue."

The girl turned to see the small party of humans clash with the fiends. Despair shone brightly in her eyes as she realized she had no choice in the matter. She knew Zinneth's might all too well. She crouched beside the human again, who had yet to show evidence of his sanity. Nianna whispered something in that revolting language again and stood.

"I will go with you as long as you do not harm them." She said at last.

"There will be no guarantees."

Nianna looked up sharply at her, glowering. "Then—"

Zinneth simply raised her snake-headed limb. The mouth opened and a black, non-light spilled out. It sullied the air like smoke and seemed to consume the light and color of everything it touched.

Nianna took an involuntary step backward, eying the cavernous mouth of the serpent head. "You do not need to resort to that. I will go with you."

Smirking, Zinneth closed the mouth. The smoke-like black light slipped back into the serpent's mouth, finding entryways through its nostrils and seemingly closed mouth. "Good, Nianna, you remembered. You would not want this power to be unleashed here and now, not with these humans so close, right?"

Nianna continued to glower at her. "I said I would go, so let us leave."

Zinneth scanned the fray and spotted Drengar attempting to unseat the female from her horse. "First, we need to get Drengar."

* * *

Lute had never seen a maelduin move so fast. The ugly brute before her was dashing left and right, hitting her and smacking her with his large hands. She had tried—really tired—to hit him with Bolting before he got too close, but the maelduin had sidestepped them so quickly and so effortlessly it made her wonder just what these monsters were capable of. And now, before she could ready another attack, the maelduin was trying to shove her from her mount. The war horse lashed out on occasion with its front and rear hooves, but it never landed a hit.

There was a malicious, greedy sneer on his face as the maelduin came at her again from the front. Her horse reared up, but the maelduin was taller and swept her out of the saddle with an outreaching arm. Once she was clear of the saddle, the maelduin clutched her to his chest. Lute was assaulted with the musty, horsy scent of sweat and the polluted aura of the fiend.

She was shocked—no, stunned—for a moment, simply trying to regain her sense of direction. And when the scene fell into place like a completed puzzle, Lute shrieked and pounded her gloved fists into the maelduin's barrel-like chest. The beast only grunted, a sneering kind of sound.

"Release me!" Lute shouted in the Voice of the Dead.

The maelduin's stride faltered once. "So it is true." He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. "You do speak the Voice."

"Release me or you will regret it!"

The maelduin's arms snaked around her, trapping her to his solid chest. "I would like to see you try, little human."

Lute struggled to reach her Fimbulvetr tome trapped between her side and his chest. If she could only reach it, the maelduin would be an ice sculpture before her. But the fiend saw her objective and yanked out the tome wedged between them. He slowed his galloping pace slightly to peer at the book curiously. He opened the tome with clever fingers and studied the runes for a moment. Then, with a sneer of disgust, he tossed it aside.

"You will not need that where you are going."

Incensed, Lute fought and struggled for all she was worth. However, fighting against the maelduin's grasp was like trying to pound your way out of a concrete tomb. She would not be escaping his hold anytime soon. She had only one option left and prayed to the light above that it would work. Lute didn't particularly like this option, but if she wanted to live she had to do this.

Taking a deep breath—and nearly gagging on the stench of horse sweat—she screamed: "Innes! Kyle! Vanessa! Help!"

She hated it. She really, _really_ hated calling for help. She was the best magic user there was and she was screaming for help. She loathed it. But she had to. She had to call for help if she wished to live and see Artur again.

The maelduin was surprised at first. The human female was screeching in a language he couldn't understand. And when he heard returning shouts from the other humans, he clamped a large hand over the human's mouth. Lute took the opportunity to bite him. She dug in her teeth and fastened a tight hold on the hand. Lute drew blood and grimaced against the thick, sour taste.

Shouting in both pain and outrage, the maelduin freed an arm to slap her about. Lute screwed her eyes closed and hung on to the putrid flesh between her teeth. She ignored the pain blossoming in various parts of her body. When the fiend realized she wasn't letting go—his slaps were doing nothing to help—and her human comrades were making their way toward her, he did the only thing he could.

Lute was aware of the single arm that was crushing her to the fiend's chest. She was also aware that the hand she had latched her teeth on was connected to the arm holding her. And then she was abruptly aware of the other hand around her throat. Gasping, she released the fiend's hand as her own hands flew to her throat. The beast's grip shifted. Lute was now held in the crook of his right arm while his left hand deprived her of oxygen.

The last thing Lute saw was the expression of twisted pleasure on the fiend's face before a black fog crowded in. Everything faded away.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for joining us in Chapter 29: Capture. Photos can be retrieved at the booth around the corner.

Some of you may have noticed through your experience here with me at By the Light of the Fire that contractions have been absent from speech in the Voice. This may have made sentences sound awkward even when they are technically correct. The absence of contractions is just another quirk in the language, such as the abense of posession words used with an apostrophe and the letter "s". If you have noticed this, please reward yourself by taking cake and ice cream from the food stand. If you have not noticed this, look for it in future chapters.

Once again, thank you. That is all for this week. Goodbye!


	30. Whispers in the Dark

**A/N: **Hello everyone! This chapter isn't as active as the last one, rest assured. And it isn't that long, either... Yes, for all of my efforts, this chapter barely scrapes past 3500 words. Unbelievable, isn't it? I think I should feel ashamed... In any case, you readers get a reprieve from obnoxiously long chapters. I'm sure you're all happy about that, aren't you? Though this chapter may not be high on the action meter, it is rather dark...no pun intended. (You'll see what I mean.)

Well, enjoy! (If you can...)

**Disclaimer: **Noun. A denial or renunciation, as of responsibility. --Webster's New World Dictionary (which I also do not claim as my own). So, in conclusion, I renounce all claims to Fire Emblem, its characters, its plot, its setting, and all things in association with Fire Emblem. There. That should do it.

* * *

**30) Whispers in the Dark**

"Prince Innes?" Vanessa asked in question as to what they should do.

She held the catatonic Ewan. That was the only word to describe him. Catatonic. His muscles were rigid, locking up and causing him to quiver slightly from strain. He was unresponsive, never blinking, silent. It seemed like his very soul had left him, leaving behind an empty shell. A husk.

"Prince Innes?" She asked again when he didn't answer.

The Frelian royal gripped his bow hard as if seeking to snap it in two. "Fall back. There is nothing more we can do here."

The command was quiet, spoken with a tortured tone. The battle-ready team heard it despite the volume and solemnly traveled back to camp.

* * *

Ephraim was ready to call out an order, was ready to engage in battle with the fiends, but saw something that made him pause.

The battle-ready team was returning to camp.

His brow furrowed in befuddlement. The troops behind him waited apprehensively for an order. The Renais prince muttered something that sounded like "At ease" or perhaps it was "Ai, thieves" which caused Colm to stare at him in confusion. What was _that_ supposed to mean? In any case, the teams relaxed, talking in whispers amongst themselves.

Ephraim met the Frelian prince. "Innes, what in all of Magvel is going on?"

"The fiends have retreated." He replied calmly, running a hand over the sleek curve of his bow.

"What happened out there? Surely they can't be finished with us."

Innes shook his head. "No, I'm sure they're not. However, I believe this time all they wanted was to find the lost sheep, take it back into the fold."

"Kayll?"

Innes's gaze dropped. "And . . . Lute."

"What?!"

Eirika, sensing the tension in the air, joined them. A concerned expression was already in place. "What is wrong? I thought the fiends had come to do battle with us."

"Apparently, not this time." Ephraim said grimly. He turned to Innes. "Why would they take Lute too?"

The prince's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure they saw her as a threat. She _is_ the only one among us who reads and speaks the Voice."

"Wait," Eirika broke in, looking horrified. "The fiends have captured Lute?"

"And Kayll. But, I suppose that was her objective anyway." Innes answered. "She seemed set on meeting 'Zinneth' before the fiends got here."

"I wonder who that is?" Eirika mused aloud. It was in that moment of contemplation that her eyes wandered over the rest of the battle-ready team . . . and landed on Ewan. "Gods above! Ewan!"

The princes turned to watch Vanessa solemnly ride up on her grounded pegasus. Innes shook his head in dismay. "He's still alive, rest assured. I don't know what has happened to him. We found him like that once the battlefield was clear. He's . . ." Innes trailed off with a frustrated look, trying to give a name to Ewan's condition. "He's gone, I suppose."

"What do you mean?" Eirika questioned with concern coloring her tone, her eyes narrowing with worry.

Innes rubbed that back of his neck. "Gone," He repeated. "It's as if he no longer harbors a soul. He's . . . an empty shell. His eyes are blank and he won't speak. It feels like he's not here. Gone."

"Gone," Ephraim echoed in a murmur as if trying to understand the depth of the word.

"Saleh!" Eirika whispered in alarm. "What should we d—"

But the mountain sage beat her to it. There was a cry of alarm and a blur of pale, dusty robes. Titania's startled whicker and flash of crimson followed. Saleh held Ewan while Tethys hovered over his shoulder. The two looked up together at the trio and immediately began demanding answers once they realized the flame haired youth was still alive.

Innes sighed and rubbed his right temple with his free hand as if suddenly aggravated. "Saleh, Tethys, take him to Natasha, for gods' sakes!" He barked.

They were off as soon as "Natasha" left his lips. Eirika watched them hurry away with concern. She was too compassionate not to think about how they were digesting the scene. Innes's expression was irate, like he had a headache of immense proportions. Ephraim was the one to remind them of their next problem.

"As for Lute . . ." He looked from one to the other. "We're going to get her back as soon as possible. The troops are weary; trying to retrieve her now would be asking for a bloodbath. We'll head out tomorrow for Rausten Court. I think L'Arachel's assistance would be a great help to us. From there we will march to Darkling Woods."

Innes nodded in agreement.

"Brother," Eirika raised her turquoise eyes, darkened with distress, to his. "How are we going to tell Artur?"

* * *

She was aware of a rock surface beneath her and a damp, earthy scent. The air felt cool to her and she imagined she must be in a cavern or a cave, somewhere moderately enclosed. She could hear water dripping onto ground, forming a puddle near her head. A droplet landed on her cheek. She furrowed her brows and wrenched her eyes open. It took her a few moments to adjust to the light. Or there lack of. She struggled to sit up, groaning and then wincing at the ache in her throat.

"So . . . still alive are you?"

It took a moment for the words to register; they weren't in her native tongue after all.

"Wh—who's there?" Lute asked in Common.

"No, speak the Voice. Zinneth cannot accuse me of making escape plans with you that way."

Lute glanced about, searching for the familiar voice. She could make out the rough rock walls and a few stalagmites jutting out of the ground. The sound of dripping water echoed. It must be an underground cavern.

"Kayll?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?" She asked, switching to the Voice.

"Over here."

Lute turned about, still unable to see properly. "Where?"

An exasperated sigh met her ears. "Here—wait. Let me try something."

There was some shifting about, cloth on rock, skin through dirt. Then an odd light appeared. It wasn't a light, necessarily. It was more of a slight glow that didn't brighten the darkness, but rather gave everything an outline. The area around Lute seemed to expand. Stalagmites and stalactites appeared all around her, not only revealing how far the cavern extended, but also crowding around her. Like a cage. She turned again and saw Kayll sitting cross-legged about ten feet away. The strange light seemed to emanate from Kayll. Or, rather, from _behind_ Kayll.

"What are you doing?"

"Simple illumination. Easy, really." She answered in the same tone of voice she had been using since Lute awoke: emotionless.

"Why is it _behind_ you?" Lute asked, more curious than anything else. She completely forgot about the fact that the girl sitting before her had been her enemy. She forgot about the fact that she had bared all of her secrets (or nearly all of them) in a savage manner. She forgot about the fact that she was in an underground cavern (where she shouldn't be) and she forgot about the outcome of the battle. For right now, they were just two magic users sitting together, alone in the dark, and (hopefully) carrying on a normal conversation.

"My hands are tied." Kayll explained simply.

Lute blinked. "Oh," She studied her surroundings again. "Where are we?"

"An underground cavern."

"I established that."

"Then, why did you ask?"

Growing a bit frustrated, Lute shot the girl a glare through the dim lighting. She wasn't sure if Kayll could see her, but it made her feel better. "I _meant_, where is this cavern located?"

"In the mountains scattered throughout Darkling Woods. This cavern is a favorite spot for Zinneth. Her own private suite, you could say." Kayll replied monotonously, sounding more bored than concerned about the situation.

Lute didn't realize her hands were bound as well until she tried to scoot along the ground toward Kayll. Unlike Kayll, her hands were bound in front of her rather than at her back. She tried in vain to loosen the scratchy rope with her fingers. She brought her hands to her mouth and tried pulling at the knot with her teeth. The rope stank of mildew; she quickly relinquished her hold on the rope. She didn't want to contract a disease. She gave up liberating herself and glanced over at Kayll, who sat in the gloom with her face shadowed. Lute awareness of the situation seemed to slowly come back to her. This girl still had so many secrets. Lute was still curious about her, but she decided she wouldn't question Kayll in the same manner she had used the last time.

"Who is Zinneth, anyway?" Lute asked her.

"My keeper." Kayll answered quietly.

The magic user's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"My keeper, my teacher, my mistress, my tormentor, and my mother." She said in a tone that could have suggested she had memorized this response.

Lute blinked in shock. "Wha—mother?!"

Kayll looked up at her and smirked, finally showing some emotion. Lute wasn't sure if she should be pleased that that emotion was scorn. "In the sense that she gave me this . . . wretched existence."

"Biologically?"

"No." Kayll lowered her head again. "No, not at all. I am human, through and through. The only thing that sets me apart from being a simple human is the fact that I wield Dark magic. If it were not for that, if it were not for Zinneth finding me, I would have remained a simple human. I would still have that simple life that I had before all of this. The life that I do not remember."

Lute shook her head. "I do not understand."

Again, Kayll smirked. "I did not expect you to."

She looked at the girl curiously. "Then why did you tell me? Why are you suddenly opening yourself up to me? I have done nothing to deserve that."

"And I have done nothing to deserve this life, if you could call it one. If we are to survive, there can be no doubts, no suspicions between us." Kayll shrugged her shoulders. "I thought if I told you about myself, if I gave you the answers to all of your suspicions about me, that perhaps we could create a semblance of trust."

"A semblance of trust." Lute echoed, though it sounded more like a question.

"I do not hand myself over to just anyone, you know." Kayll pointed out. "I do not trust. At least, not easily." She turned her head to the side. "And when I do trust, it usually ends with pain."

"Who are you talking about?" Lute questioned softly. "Who betrayed your trust?"

Kayll let out a short bark of laughter, coarse and almost bitter. "He did not betray my trust." Her voice grew soft. "But I betrayed his. I allowed him to be hurt when he thought I would never hurt him."

"Who is he?"

Dim ruby eyes peered up at her. "You know him."

"Ewan?" Lute wasn't sure why she was surprised. It was obvious the boy had some kind of faith in the girl sitting before her. Why he did was still a mystery to her.

"He was Possessed." Kayll went on. "And I did nothing to stop her. He does not deserve that kind of pain."

Lute now stared at the side profile of Kayll's face for the girl had turned away from her, slumping forward like a sack of vegetables. Kayll's blue-violet hair, a shade of color in the twilit sky, hid most of her face, but there was no mistaking the self-loathing and regret in her voice. Lute now saw where the peculiar non-light came from. Kayll's hands glowed with a black fire, if there could be such a thing.

"Possession," Lute began. "I have only heard theories on it. A book told me that Possession enables the user to control a person. Is that right?"

Kayll sighed, sounding weary, and she slumped forward even more. "Possession is an advanced form of Persuasion. Persuasion implants a thought, nudging the mind to perform whatever the suggestion is. Possession is complete and utter control of a person. Not just their mind or body, but their spirit too. It is an easy way of getting whatever you want done. If you Possess a king, you have control of the entire kingdom. If you Possess a shopkeeper, you can clean out his entire store. No questions asked."

Lute spoke when it seemed like Kayll no longer wanted to. "That is . . . very convenient, I suppose. It sounds like a dangerous power. It that all there is to it? How is it done?"

Kayll stiffened. "No, that is _not_ 'all there is to it.' Do you not see how damaging that kind of power is to the victim?!" The girl swiveled toward Lute, face contorted with anger. "The user has _complete_ control of the soul! The user—Zinneth—she—she gets into every corner! There is no escaping it! She looks into your very heart and soul. She sees how you think, how you feel, how you function! There is nothing that goes untouched. Nothing! You are bared to her! You are stripped of every defense you know. The action of probing a person of their soul—it is so intimate, so horrible. It is the ultimate violation." She fell silent, bowing her head once more.

Lute swallowed, her pulse beating a little faster. "That is—that is terrible! Ghastly! And this—this happened to Ewan?"

"Yes," The word was strained with so much emotion. It was heartbreaking to hear. "Ewan was Possessed by Zinneth. It is a punishment no one deserves. You come away from it tainted, forever sullied. You never wash away that feeling. You feel vile and utterly repulsive."

Lute watched her, feeling horribly guilty. The shame of her previous actions was suffocating her. "Kayll . . . you were Possessed too, were you not?"

"I was." Kayll admitted stoically. "It is the way Zinneth 'tames' me." She sat up and smiled wickedly, a devilish glint in her eyes. "They tell me I have a strong spirit and am most unruly. Zinneth violates me in hopes of subduing me. It has not worked so far."

Lute studied her in the dim lighting. The way Kayll still had a fire in her eyes, even though they seemed to have a used look about them, as if those eyes had seen too many things. The way Kayll still carried herself, with defiance and arrogance. The way Kayll still spoke, her words all-knowing and her tone strong. She appeared to have bounced back from her abuse, even if a little scarred.

"Will Ewan recover from this?" She asked quietly, afraid to hear the answer.

Kayll seemed to wilt like a flower suddenly deprived of the sunlight. "I do not know." She whispered, shaking her head. "I do not know. His spirit is strong, but I do not know how strong. The first time it happened to me . . . I was certain I was going to die." She smiled sadly. "Whether by her hand or mine, I was certain I was going to die."

* * *

Artur looked up from sealing the gash across Forde's bicep. Saleh and Tethys ran into the tent, calling for Natasha, and deposited a small form onto a cot. The blonde cleric hurried over. Artur tried to see what was happening, but the trio formed a wall around the person. He had seen a flash of red hair. Joshua or Ewan. Saleh and Tethys were here. Ewan. It couldn't be anyone else. Artur wrinkled his brow. Ewan had taken off after Kayll. The two magic users had taken the brunt of the attack.

Forde only exhaled through his nose, as if regretting something. He didn't bother to look across the tent. Artur healed the wound, guessing that Forde already knew what happened. Once finished, Forde slipped into a clean tunic and stood. He attempted to give Artur a cheering smile, but it failed miserably.

He sighed. "A sad thing, that." The cavalier nodded towards Ewan.

The copper-red brows knit together. "What is? What has happened to Ewan?"

Forde collected his armor where it had been deposited on the floor. He shook his head. "I have no idea, but it's something bad. Really bad."

"Hm." Artur gazed over at the bunch worriedly. His heart leapt. "Have you seen Lute?" He asked quickly.

There was no answer.

Artur looked over at the cavalier. "Forde?"

Forde seemed to have frozen, he was so still. A grim look crossed his face and he stared at the rust-red colored armor in his hands. Artur grew increasingly uneasy.

"Forde? Where is she?"

Kyle, Natasha's previous patient, stood abruptly from his cot. "Forde, let's go. We have to take care of the horses."

Forde nodded and somehow managed to shoot Artur a quirked smile. He turned to leave.

"Forde! Kyle!" Artur lunged and caught Forde's sleeve. His heart was fluttering like a dying bird in his chest. "Where is Lute? Did something happen? Is she—?" No. He couldn't say it. Artur looked away and allow the material to slide from his hand.

Forde and Kyle were spared from answering Artur by the arrival of Ephraim, Innes, and Eirika. The cavaliers traded glances and slipped away quietly. Artur turned pleading tawny eyes on the princes and princess. They all looked a little apprehensive.

"Where's Lute?" He demanded with a quavering voice.

"Artur," Ephraim began. "Something has happened."

"Please, sit down." Eirika told him gently.

Artur didn't move, didn't dare to breathe.

Innes took over from there. "The battle-ready team was the only team out on the field. The fiends retreated before we had a chance in defeating them. But, before they left . . ." He hesitated, considering his next words.

Ephraim saved Innes and turned to the panicky magic user. "Artur, Lute was . . . taken . . . off the battlefield by the fiends."

"She was captured." Innes said, a hint of remorse touching his voice. "We didn't have a chance to rescue her; we were too far away."

Artur felt his world crashing, breaking apart slowly.

"No . . ."

It was crumbling, disappearing, disintegrating.

"No, no, no . . ."

He suddenly didn't have the strength to stand. He collapsed numbly onto the cot he was standing by. He stared across the tent at the cluster of people gathered around Ewan without really seeing them. His heart . . . he couldn't feel it; it had shattering along with everything else. He tried to remember how to breathe, but it eluded him. He slumped, suddenly boneless, and buried his face in his hands.

_Lute._

* * *

The silence was stifling. Lute shifted on the ground uncomfortably. She glanced around the cavern again, wondering if the Renais army would ever think to look here. She despaired at the thought of this dank place becoming their grave. She looked over at Kayll, who hadn't said a word since their discussion about Possession.

"Who are you really?" Lute asked, breaking the silence.

"No one."

Lute shook her head, growing quickly irritated. "Seriously. Who are you? Or . . . who _were_ you?"

"No one."

"I mean—"

"No one that I remember." Kayll finished.

"Oh." She paused, her eyes trailing over the stalagmites. "Why do not remember who you ar—were?"

Kayll shook her head. "I do not know. I can only remember waking up . . . and thinking I was trapped in a nightmare."

"Is your name really Kayll?"

"No," She sounded amused. "Ewan gave me that name. Kayll was a dear friend of his, a fellow orphan on the streets. Zinneth calls me 'Nianna', but I know that is not my name. I assume it must mean something to them, but I do not know what that is. I do not know who I once was and sometimes I wish I did."

"Only sometimes?" She asked curiously.

"As bad as it is now, I know I would never have met a person as pure as Ewan if I were someone else. He is truly a diamond in the rough." She made an amused sound, something like a grunt and a chuckle. "I could only dream to be as virtuous as he is. I do not know how he does it, how he can be so untainted in a cruel, polluted world. But, no, it is not like that any longer. If he can recover from this, then he truly will be pure."

Lute was quiet for a moment, contemplating all that she had learned. Kayll had been right. She was the victim in all of this. Lute had been wrong—again. Kayll wasn't quite so bad . . . once you grew used to her off-and-on behavior. She still had so many questions to ask her, but Lute was uncertain if Kayll would answer. She took a breath. She just had to know.

"Kayll . . ."

The girl looked over at the violet haired magic user.

"Are you—do you love Ewan?"

Kayll blinked owlishly. "Love? What is that?"

* * *

Gray. Like smoke. All shifting and swirling.

Cold. Like winter. All frozen and biting.

Tainted. Like poison. All polluted and impure.

Gray, cold, tainted. Shifting, frozen, and polluted. Swirling, biting, and impure.

Without reason. Without purpose. Just existing. A worthless existence.

It should end.

_I should end. _

Death. The only answer. The only remedy.

_I should fix this. I should die._

Turmoil. Turmoil and agony.

_That is all I am._

Pollution. Contamination. Poison.

_That is what is within me._

It should end.

_I should end. I should die. I will fix this. I will end. I will die. I will make things right. I will not pollute this place any longer. I will—_

Destroy. Destroy the sickness. Destroy the toxins. Destroy the impurities. Destroy everything.

—_I will destroy myself._

* * *

[cue music: Lyon (Organ Arrangement)

[slow blackout

**A/N: **Well, that's what would happen if this were a movie. Sorry, but I'm big on theatrics (as some of you should know...). If some of you aren't overcome with sudden depression, you can type up a review. I will warn you, the mood will only grow darker from here on out. Well, see you next week!


	31. Of Life, Love, and Freedom

**A/N: **Hey everyone. Sorry. I would have had this up sooner, but my family had to clean house. Ugh. Dustbunnies are going to haunt my dreams tonight. Break from insanely long chapters is over!! Yep, this is a long one. (a chorus of groans from readers) Oh, it isn't **that **bad. Just over 5000 words. ...Heh...Okay, so it **is** pretty long. Did you know the only chapter longer than this one was Chapter 22? (sigh) That was so long ago! Well...enjoy. No flames please!!

**Disclaimer: **(singsong voice) You're not here! You're not here! I can't see you 'cause you're not here! Lalalalaaa!! You're just a figment of my imagination!! Ha ha! You're not here! You're not here! (realizes this method is failing) Drat. Fine. I do not claim. Satisfied? 'Cause I'm not!

* * *

**31) Of Life, Love, and Freedom**

It was so still. So quiet. No one moved and no one talked. And that was perfectly fine with Saleh.

He was sitting in a roughly hewn chair. It was made simply of pieces of wood nailed hurriedly together. There were grooves in the wood from the blade of the axe. The fingers of his right hand trailed over the furrows absently, restlessly. He paid no mind to the occasional splinter; it seemed his nerve endings had gone as numb as Artur. And that was perfectly fine with Saleh.

He sighed.

The copper haired sage was frightfully unresponsive, much like Ewan. Artur's eyes seemed just as blank as Ewan's listless crimson orbs. Saleh had heard that Artur had sat in his tent all day long. The army now knew what had befallen their comrades and they all showed their sympathy in one way or another. Saleh didn't care much for the compassion and neither did Artur. Saleh had heard the sage hadn't left his tent. Not once. They were all seeking time to themselves to contemplate the recent turn of events. And that was perfectly fine with Saleh.

Of course, Saleh only knew these things because Natasha took the time to attempt a conversation with him. When he spoke, it was absently and halfheartedly. He didn't feel like talking—only asking questions. Will Ewan be all right? When will he wake up, for it surely it seemed he was asleep? Would he remember what happened to him? How long was he going to be like this? Why? When? How? It was all he could bring himself to say. But Natasha couldn't answer him. And that was perfectly fine with Saleh; he found he didn't want to know the answers after all.

Tethys was often his only conscious company. She wouldn't say much either. She would toy with her crimson hair, twisting it into a braid, unraveling it and then starting all over again. She was often too jittery—too anxious—to dance, which was how she usually handled stress. Occasionally, she would talk to her brother, carrying on one-sided conversations, pretending she knew how he would answer. At times, she would simply hold Ewan's hand and say nothing at all. She would try to talk to Saleh, but the conversations went much like the ones with Natasha—only, he didn't ask the questions. And that was perfectly fine with Saleh.

Ewan's visitors ranged far and wide. Some of them, like Ross, came to talk briefly, saying they missed him and whatnot. Some, like Gerik, came to talk with Ewan's ever-present guardians, hoping to distract them. Others, like Eirika, came to give their condolences, saying how sorry they were even when they had nothing to do with Ewan's condition. And a few, like Innes, came to stand in their presence silently. And that was perfectly fine with Saleh.

It was dark outside. Numerous candles had been lit in the tent. Their flickering light cast shadows over Ewan's face, making him appear gaunt and unhealthily pale. The candlelight tangled in Ewan's crimson hair, making it appear as those flames were dancing over his head. The light swept over the blankets, making valleys of shadow in the folds.

And Saleh sat silently, watching solemnly with the candlelight flickering in his pale eyes.

"_You can heal him, right?"_

The desperation had been evident in his voice. He could still hear it echo in his mind.

"_I . . ."_

The hesitation and puzzlement that had flickered over Natasha's face had stopped him cold. He still felt a little cold now.

"_What? What is it? What's wrong?"_

He had panicked. Natasha had never been hesitant in her work. Never. She was confident, firm and gentle all at once.

"_Saleh . . . there is no injury."_

She had sounded so confused, baffled. She hadn't been able to do anything. She couldn't heal what was never broken. Oh, but Ewan was so broken. Shattered, tattered, scattered. Broken beyond repair.

"_Wh—what do you mean? If there's no injury, then why is he like _that?_" _

There had been no words to describe his student's condition. He was there physically, but mentally—even spiritually—he had fled. But where had he gone?

"_I . . . I don't know, Saleh. I don't know what's wrong with him."_

Those words still chilled him, made him icy cold to the marrow of his bones. Natasha was the best healer he had ever known. How could she _not_ know what was wrong?

Silence had been his response. He had slumped into the eyesore of a chair he was sitting in now, laden with the despair settling on his shoulders. If Natasha couldn't help him, then who could?

"_Right now, only he can decide if he wants to heal. We can't do anything for him until he makes up his mind."_

That didn't sit well with him. His comatose pupil was the only one who could change the current situation. Everyone else was useless. Nothing they did would help. They could only sit and watch and wait. And that was far from fine with Saleh.

* * *

Lute stared openly at her. "You—you do not know what love is?"

Kayll shook her head. "I have never experienced it. I have never felt it before. Not the love of a family. Not the love shared between a man and a woman. Not the love shared between frien—" She stopped, a frown curving her lips. "Well, I am not so sure about that one." She shook her head as if to shake off the thought. "How about you? What do you feel with Artur?"

Lute was a bit taken aback. "Um, well, I—" She bit her lips together, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Kayll made an amused sound and the mage knight saw interest flickering in the ruby orbs. "Well?" She prompted. "You were all bent out of shape when I supposedly stole him away from you. There must be a reason for that, eh? Do you love him or do you not?"

"I do." She said a little defensively. "And you _did_ steal him away."

"Not intentionally."

Lute sighed. "I still do not understand that. How could he suddenly love you?"

Kayll shook her head. "He never loved me."

"But—"

"He only thought he did." She finished. "When I Persuaded him to become my, ah, friend, the suggestion must have reacted with his feelings of unrequited love for you. His heart was in turmoil and he was confused. The Persuasion inadvertently made him believe he, ah, was . . . fond of me. I never wanted that. It was an accident."

"Some accident." Lute grunted.

Kayll's eyes gleamed. "It certainly made things interesting."

"Too interesting if you ask me."

The statement produced a chuckle from the other girl. It echoed in the cavern, ricocheting off the stalactites. "Indeed."

"While we are on the subject . . . what is with you and Ewan?" Lute asked.

Kayll blinked. "I do not know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." She said sternly, shooting her a hard look. "Are you friends? Lovers?" Kayll made a choking sound. "What? Are you using him? Are you leading him on?" Lute waited a little impatiently. "Well?"

". . . At first, I used him for leverage. If I had a few people believing me, I thought my views would at least be considered." Kayll admitted. "I did not Persuade him because I realized . . ." She hesitated.

"Go on."

Kayll chewed on her lip before answering. "I realized that I did not need to. In the very beginning, when I found him on the plain, I simply wanted to get him off my case. I wanted to be rid of him. I would escort him to his home and leave. But, then I found out he was part of the Renais Army and . . ."

"You jumped at the chance." Lute finished for her.

"Yes." She didn't sound too proud about it. "By that time, I think he already saw who I really was. He saw through all of my fronts like they were nothing. I did not need to Persuade him because he became my ally without my noticing. Besides," She shook her head ruefully. "I was selfish. He saw the truth no one else could ever see. I did not want to take that away. No one has ever understood me so easily. I think that was where I messed up. I should have Persuaded him; he never would have run after me if I had. He would not have been Possessed . . ."

Lute watched Kayll bow her head again, slumping with a sigh.

"And now?"

She looked up.

"What are you now?"

"We are not—not l-lovers if that is what you are asking." Kayll stammered. "But I am not sure if one would consider us 'friends.' I hardly think I am deserving of that title. Secrecy and lies—it is not the foundation of friendship. Personally, I think he cared too much. He did not want to leave anything alone. He asked so many questions, trying to understand me when he already knew everything about me. He put too much trust in me, too much faith." Her expression twisted, lip curling, nose scrunching, eyebrows furrowing, eyes narrowing. "He should not have done that. I was never worthy to carry such precious things. I was doomed to fail him."

Lute watched her quietly for a moment. Water dripped onto the stone floor, making small "plop" noises. She twisted her hands, absently tugging on her bonds. Then: "I do not think you have much confidence in yourself. Low self-esteem. Was it all a front? That Kayll I saw in the meeting before the ambush, was she just a mask? I think so. I think you are more fragile than you like to let on. However, here, to show weakness is a death wish, right? I think you are not sure why you continue to live on, to toil in the strife surrounding us all, but you do anyway. You hope that there will be something to give you reason. So, you are biding your time, waiting for that something to make sense of the world around you." She looked up at Kayll. "I think I know what that something is."

Kayll stared at the violet haired magic user with something akin to awe and respect in her eyes. She didn't say anything for a long time because she could think of nothing to say. Lute's words made sense. Kayll suddenly felt like her world had finally shifted into place at last. Everything was together like a sturdy chain; the links were all connecting.

Finally, she spoke.

"What is it?"

Lute started, having thought Kayll wasn't going to respond. "What is what?"

"What am I waiting for?" the other girl asked.

Lute's lips curved with a slight smile. "I am not going to tell you."

Kayll frowned, forehead wrinkling. "Why not?"

"Because, this is your journey. I will not tell you where you will end. It would spoil the voyage there." Lute replied.

"Mm."

The water continued to drip, making every second noticeable as it passed. The odd glow of the dark flame in Kayll's hands made the stalactites and stalagmites waver and sway. The damp, cool air was making Lute's fingers and toes numb. She knew if she touched her nose it would be cold. The stone she sat upon was steadily making her bottom numb, too. She shifted a little, uncomfortable and suddenly antsy.

She wondered what time of day it was. She wondered what the Renais Army was doing right now. Were they all resting? Marching to her rescue? She wondered how Ewan fared. She wondered if he would ever be the same. Lute's mind turned to Artur. How was he managing in all of this? Was he anxious to find her? Was he out of his mind in worry? He was the type to worry, to pace his tent until he wore a path on the ground with his boots. She wondered if he, being so pious, was praying every second for her safe return.

An ache grew in her chest, sharp and throbbing. Lute brought her arms up tight against her chest, as if to suppress the pain in her heart. She imagined a setting quite different from the one she was in right now.

It was much warmer and the lush grass was so soft. The gentle wind blew through her hair, making the purple locks brush across her face. She automatically pulled the erratic locks behind her ear, her attention never wavering from the person beside her. The sun that had managed to avoid the roaming clouds settled on his hair, lighting it afire and making it look like a new copper coin. His laughing smile rivaled the brilliance of the sunny rays and his warm brown eyes glittered brighter than anything found in the sky. He twirled a plain white flower in his fingers idly before sliding it behind her ear. His hand strayed down her cheek, warm and gentle. The fingers that brushed across her lips were as light as butterfly wings, soft and fleeting. His lips were moving, forming words, and his rich and tender voice met her ears. He was calling her name . . .

"Lute,"

She was smiling now, against the touch of his fingers.

"Lute,"

Their eyes were locked and she felt herself falling—no, she was leaning forward. Her eyelids were sinking over her eyes and she knew he was leaning forward, too.

"Lute!"

She was so warm . . . so happy . . . nothing could take this away.

"_Lute!_"

Her eyes snapped open and she was suddenly cold again. Lute sat up, stiff and groggy. She looked around in the gloom. Rock spires were jutting out of the ground and down from the ceiling like a set of fangs. Water was dripping in the background, the sound of it echoing all around her in a steady rhythm. She ground beneath her was cold and damp. She felt numb from the tips of her toes to the ends of her fingers. Lute saw Kayll sitting quite close to her, watching her.

"What?"

Kayll tilted her head to the side, as if that would give her a different perspective of the mage knight in front of her. "You were smiling in your sleep." She stated as if that baffled her.

"I was dreaming."

"A good dream."

Lute smiled. "A _very _good dream."

"With Artur."

Lute's cheeks reddened. ". . . Yes, with Artur."

Kayll nodded. "I am glad." The corner of her mouth tugged up into a half smile. "Envious, but glad."

Lute silently puzzled over this. Kayll much friendlier. Perhaps friendlier than she had expected. Hadn't she been the one to say a "semblance of trust?" Wasn't she the one who said she didn't give herself over to "just anyone?"

"Why?" She said aloud.

Kayll looked at her with some surprise, as if conscious of Lute's thoughts. "I am not sure, but I am. You looked so peaceful; I hated waking you."

"Why did you wake me?"

Her expression soured, became flat and grim. "Zinneth is coming."

Lute felt something hard and cold settle in her chest and her stomach tightened. "Can you hear her?" She asked as she strained her hearing.

But Kayll shook her head. "No, not exactly."

Lute's expression became curious, a silent question.

"We have a . . . link. I can sense her presence through it. Sometimes, if she is close enough and if I concentrate enough, I can feel her thoughts." Kayll explained, sounding suspiciously self-conscious, even guilty.

Lute accepted this without another thought. "Do you know her intentions?"

Kayll shook her head, biting her lip and gazing at the cavern behind Lute. "No, I do not."

"Is there any way we could possibly escape?" Lute asked quickly, knowing her time was short.

"We'd have to break free of our bonds, first." Kayll told her, slipping into Common.

Confused at the switch, but not questioning it, Lute continued. "Do you have any ideas?" She, too, changed to Common.

"Dark magic can't destroy them; she spelled them somehow. Maybe Light magic could do something . . ." Kayll looked at her pointedly.

Lute shook her head. "I don't have any of my t—" Eyes widening, Lute twisted her arms, scrabbling at the front of her armor. However, no amount of twisting or straining would allow her access.

"What are you doing?" Kayll demanded.

Lute sighed, lowering her hands in defeat. "I just remembered. I hid a handmade Fire tome in my armor, between the leather and the metal plates. I can't reach it though."

Kayll turned around. "Lean toward me, guide me; I'll see if I can get it."

Lute did as she was told. Kayll's hands reached out and brushed the metal of the armor. "Okay, slip your fingers over the edge of the metal . . . now reach down . . . over to the left, just a hair."

"Got it!" Kayll withdrew quickly, handing the slim book off to Lute before spinning around. "How many attacks do you have in that thing?"

Lute struggled to open it. "I don't know, a couple dozen or so."

"Not many." Kayll concluded. "It'll have to do."

"Just exactly how are we getting out of here?" Lute demanded, growing frustrated as their time slipped away.

Kayll grinned widely and a wild gleam glittered in her eyes. "We'll just have to wing it."

Lute felt an inkling of apprehension pool in her chest cavity. "But, isn't Zinneth gorgon general? Isn't she the one running things around here? She's going to be more than a match for us alone. How are we going to escape if our hands are still tied?"

Kayll shook her head. "No time." She said in the Voice. "She is here."

Lute turned when she heard the grating of stone on stone. A beam of amber sunlight from a late afternoon sun spilled into the cavern, searing their unaccustomed eyes. She squinted and heard the rasping of scales gliding across the rock. There was a faint chorus of hisses, soft and deadly. She staggered to her feet, Kayll following her lead a moment later, as Zinneth came into view. Her sickly yellow scales seemed to pulsate in the half-lit gloom. Zinneth grinned wickedly, her slit crimson eyes flashing.

"Welcome home, Nianna." She said softly.

"This is not my home. And do not call me by that name!" Kayll spat.

Zinneth continued smiling, the expression eerily plastered to the serpent-like face. "I save you from those dirty human and this is how you thank me? Tsk, tsk, Nianna. I had truly thought you would have at least thanked me for all I have done for you. I gave you family, a home, and I gave you power. What more could you possibly want?" She paused, leering. "Oh, right. You want to be _loved_." The gorgon spat the word as if it left a foul taste in her mouth. "How many times must I tell you, Nianna? No one could ever love a monster, particularly one as twisted as you!"

Kayll emitted a sound very much like a growl.

Zinneth laughed, a long hiss broken up into short segments. "Poor little child, sitting in the blood of her family, weeping and wailing like a wraith!"

Kayll froze, eyes wide, breaths shuddering. Lute assumed this was a new approach Zinneth was taking. The gorgon general began circling them, watching them.

"But I saw your potential, Nianna. I saw what you could become. I spared you and I took you away from the village. Poor little child, trembling and howling, adding to the sweet melody of screams that night."

Sweat trickled down her temples, down her cheek, down her neck, landing in the cotton of her tunic.

"Do you remember, Nianna? Do you remember how you cried out in fright when I cut the runes into your palms? Do you remember how you struggled to free yourself, calling out for your parents? Poor little child, thrashing and shouting for the newly dead, unknowing of her fate!"

At her back, fists clenched tightly, nails digging into soft, scarred flesh. Tension made her body quiver.

"Do you remember, Nianna? Do you remember the power filling your body? Do you remember those beautifully dark days after? Poor little child, crying and sobbing on the ground, hands seeking to destroy."

Her jaw clenched and her mouth warped into a snarl.

"I remember those moments, Nianna. Do you? I remember the pain, the terror, which filled your new crimson eyes. I remember those moments just like I remember the last moments of your parents' existence. Did you know when I Possess you, you look exactly like your mother did when I stole her life? Did you know when you bear the pain, you look exactly like your father did when he held in his anguish in his last moment? Did you know when you turn away in fear, you look exactly like your brother did when I lunged for him?"

A small sound slid out from behind the clenched teeth.

Zinneth stood before her, smiling all the while. "Do you remember, Nianna? I remember it all: the stench of fear permeating the air, the flash of horror in their eyes, the sounds of sweet screams, the sensation of shattering bones, the taste of thick, rich blood—so delicious." The general laughed. Long and loud and completely maniacal.

She snapped.

A howl of incomprehensible rage exploded within the cavern. Kayll lunged forward. Her body rotated as her foot swung around to strike the laughing gorgon across the face. The laughter was broken off abruptly as Zinneth's head snapped to the side. Kayll twisted as she landed, her back now to the friend. Without a pause, she crouched and spun sharply again, her leg sweeping out to strike Zinneth's lower serpent half. The general crumpled to the side, stunned at the swiftness of the attack.

Kayll whipped around to face Lute. "Go!" She screamed. "Escape and reunite with your Artur!"

Lute hesitated.

"Do you wish to break his heart with your death?!"

"No, but—"

"_Go!_"

She went. Kayll's bellows of rage and cries of pain followed her as she ran from the cavern. She dodged stalagmites and ducked under stalactites, making her way towards the circle of light marking her escape. She could hear the sounds of the struggle behind her and Zinneth's low, dangerous hiss. It sent chills up her spine. Lute honestly didn't want to leave Kayll behind. She tried to reason with herself. Wasn't this what Kayll had wanted all along? To return to this place? And yet . . . she assisted Lute in her escape.

Lute shook off the thoughts just as she crossed the boundary between light and darkness. She was free . . .

She collided with a rock-solid, heavily muscled object.

Arms as unrelenting as steel wound around her. She knew where she was in an instant: the embrace of the enemy. And not just any enemy. It was that vile maelduin general. Curse her luck!

"Where do you think you are going, precious?" His deep, sneering voice asked.

Lute glared up into his gray face. "Release me, you _fiend_."

He chuckled. Lute swore it was an earthquake with the way it reverberated throughout her body. "Why, thank you. You do not receive many compliments in this business."

Lute grit her teeth. She had barely stepped out of her prison. She hadn't even registered the late afternoon sun on her face. She _wasn't_ going to let this empty-headed, brawn-for-brains nag stop her now. Lute wriggled in the maelduin's grasp. She still held the Fire tome in her tied hands; she could still do some damage.

Another resounding laugh plowed its way through Lute's stomach. "Stay awhile, little firebrand, and enjoy my company. I have not had the pleasure of a female in my presence in such a long time." The thick, blunt fingers of his hands crawled their way down Lute's back to the base of her tailbone, traveling lower still, and around her side, up her front to brush an area she would not tolerate being touched.

Oh, that was _it._ That was the proverbial last straw. Lute did not survive a war to be fondled by a monster. She did not last through a battle of aching hearts and lashing tongues to be used as a _plaything_. Oh, no. This would _not_ be happening. Looking into the brute's muddy eyes, she could see the reflection of Hell's fires burning in her own orbs.

"Your first mistake was capturing me. Your second mistake was getting in the way of my freedom. Your third mistake was refusing to release me." Lute told him heatedly. "And your last mistake was attempting to use me for your own devices."

Her words made the general pause, slightly interested and just a little uneasy about the sudden spirit blazing in the eyes of his "captive."

Lute shouted out the words of the ancient incantation. Fire exploded between them, the heat of the conflagration scorching her face. The maelduin released her with a shout of pain. Lute landed unsteadily on her feet and watched with satisfaction as the fiend's sculpted chest burned, flames licking the iron gray flesh. The beast was yelling in pain, vainly trying to beat the flames into submission with his arms. Curious gargoyles and a cluster of alarmed tarvos watched the flailing general, shifting their weight from foot to foot or hoof to hoof.

As much as Lute would have loved to finish this battle, she knew she had to escape. Taking on the entire fiend army alone was so stupid and reckless that only a suicidal person would dare consider it. Besides, she would at least leave the maelduin a few burn scars. That was enough for now. She clutched her precious book to her chest and ran.

She hated running. She despised it as much as she loathed calling for help. Lute was not a coward. She would face a draco zombie if it approached her. She would fight to the bitter end, no questions asked. However, right now such thoughts were far from helpful. Her death would be meaningless if it were to happen here. What was one life against a multitude? She didn't doubt her strength, but she knew her limitations.

So, she ran.

For the first ten seconds, nothing happened. The fiends were all too confused and shocked. They hadn't expected a lone human to escape their maelduin general. Then, when common sense and duty fell back into place, the monsters pursued her. The tarvos snapped out of their shock and galloped after her. The few curious gargoyles turned their attention to the fleeing figure and took to the skies.

Lute cursed under her breath.

She had been expecting this; she had just hoped for more time. Lute raced down an uneven, twisting, mountain path complete with rocks, trying not to fall. She wished now more than ever that she had her trusty, sure-footed mount. While the horse wasn't a mountain goat, she was confident that it could prance down the mountainside with just enough ease. She just prayed . . .

Oh, but of _course! _Today _wasn't _Lute's day. The gods were against her. There was no way it could be anything else!

The fiends had pulled the very maneuver she had been dreading ever since she ran from the flaming general: they cut her off. Monsters at the end of the path, idly standing around, had noticed the commotion and scrambled to form a blockade. Fiends were chasing her down the mountain and fiends were waiting for her at the bottom of the mountain. Lute stopped short and glanced to either side of her. Rough boulders and jagged rocks fenced her in. She could try, but climbing was impossible. She could try to thread her way through the rocks, but she'd more likely get hung up on them than escape.

The fiends were advancing toward her. She had twenty seconds at most to decide. Rocks or fiends. Shredded like cheese against a grater or dismemberment a la fiends? Choices, choices, choices.

Lute drew in a deep breath.

_Sorry, Artur. Looks like we'll have to meet up in the afterlife. Forgive me._

She turned to the fiends racing up behind her. She held her tome tightly and released a raging ball of Fire with a few words. Lute turned sharply and shot another jet of Fire down the mountain. The fiends at the front skidded to a halt a second too late. The Fire engulfed them, wrapping around them almost lovingly. The surviving fiends darted around, over, and through the gaps in the Fire, relentlessly charging their way forward. Lute shot off two more attacks, creating two more bonfires.

The distance between her and the fiends was diminishing rapidly. She couldn't speak the chants quickly enough. She turned quickly to one direction and then whipped around to the opposite end to the point of dizziness. Lute could feel the magic leaving the tome, the energy burning up at too swift a pace. North and then south, up and then down. Back and forth she turned, casting her magic. The abominations were falling, but not fast enough. They were nearly upon her . . .

A sudden stream of fire barreled over the fiends climbing up the mountain. Not one was left standing. Lute, frowning, turned about and was unable to locate the origin of the unexpected help. Realizing what had happened, Lute moved her gaze skyward. A massive, golden scaled dragon with an emerald belly hurtled toward the ground.

Lady Myrrh, the Great Dragon.

Her glittering eyes locked with Lute's and the message was passed. She only needed a few seconds . . . and a running start. Lute ran awkwardly without the balance of outstretched arms down the mountain, kicking up ash and dust as she went. At the right moment, Myrrh threw out her wings with a flash of yellow and green, slowing her dive greatly. As she skimmed overheard, Lute leapt up, praying the dragon would catch her. Myrrh reached down and snagged her claws through the metal plates of her armor.

Lute could feel the ivory talons pricking her skin, but she was only conscious the relief sweeping through her.

* * *

**A/N: **Is anyone still alive...or awake? Did I put you to sleep or did you die of boredom? Well, if you're still alive, tell me what you think. Did Lute kick butt or was it disappointing? What will happen now that Lute's free? Huh? C'mon! Tell me your thoughts or ask me a question that I can't answer!! Please? See you next week! 


	32. Separation

**A/N: **Gomen! Sorry! I meant to update earlier today, but I was out of the house. Y'know, for back-to-school shopping. Ugh. Anyway, I'm beating myself up for forgetting to update. It's almost 10:00 p.m. here. Oops. This is a filler chapter. Not a lot going on in this chapter, but there are a few important details you need to know. Also, this chapter is about 1000 words shorter. I'm sure that's a bit of a relief. Honestly, this chapter was hard to write. I'm horrible at writing the "everyday doldrums" portion of a story. Forgive me and prepare for a sucky chapter. Gomen.

**Disclaimer: **I'm sick of this. I'm just going to make this as painless as possible. I. Do. Not. Claim. Goodbye.

* * *

**32) Separation**

Myrrh landed several miles away, confident that the fiends would not pursue them. Once they had touched the ground, Myrrh shifted back to her human form. Lute had sunk to the ground in relief, concentrating on catching her breath. Myrrh drew a small knife from a sheath hidden in the folds of her dress and cut through the rotted, scorched ropes. The mage knight rubbed her wrists and gave the Manakete a grateful smile.

Myrrh settled on a fallen log, her gold and emerald wings folding neatly against her back. The dark purple haired girl watched the other with dark, patient eyes. She knew Lute would have questions for her. She placed her hands in her lap and waited, though her wait wasn't long.

"How did you find me?"

The Manakete allowed a small smile to show on her expression. "Did you forget your lessons so soon?"

Lute, still panting, only blinked at her. "Forgive me, but my mind is scrambled at best for the moment."

Myrrh nodded. "I knew the instant you entered the Woods. I have a connection to all magic in this forest. I felt your magical signature appear near the fiends' base at Crypt Peak, as many call it. I knew you needed help and went to assist as soon as I could."

"I thank you for that." Lute shook her lavender head. "I wouldn't have made it out of there without your help."

The ancient girl only nodded.

The mage knight regarded her critically. "There's something different about you, Myrrh. You seem . . . confident, not as meek as you had been first joining the army."

"Yes, I feel different." Myrrh replied in her soft tone of voice. "The War of the Stones has changed me for the better. Triumphing over Fomortiis made me realize I didn't have to doubt myself. I have the power to defend myself and I shouldn't be afraid to use it. Besides, Darkling Woods needs me as a guardian. How can I protect the magic here if I shy away from my own? I feel that I have become a true guardian."

"I'm glad for you, Myrrh." Lute told her sincerely as she traced the red welts on her wrists.

The Manakete toyed with a strand of her hair. "I have a few questions for you, Lute, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"What were you doing at Crypt Peak? Alone, especially?"

Lute sighed. "It seems that your gift of knowledge surrounding the fiends has made me a target."

Myrrh frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"

Lute looked up at Myrrh, who could see the sudden weariness in those violet orbs. The Manakete knew immediately that there was a long story behind this. By the looks of it, this story wasn't at all pleasant. And so, Lute told Myrrh about the messages written in the Voice, the targets thus far, the ambushes, and finally about Kayll, the enigma that had yet to be solved. As Lute told the guardian of the Woods all of the details, Myrrh's expression grew grave. She was silent for several minutes after Lute had finished.

". . . Myrrh? Is there something wrong?" The purple haired magic user asked.

"This information concerning Kayll does not bode well with me." She replied at last.

"Is it possible? Is it possible that a human could wield gorgon and Dark magic without a tome?" Lute asked.

Myrrh slowly shook her head. "I am not certain, but it shouldn't be achievable." Her gaze drifted to the sky. "There is twisted magic at work here. It sounds like Fomortiis gave one of his followers a source of Dark magic, so, should he perish, there would be a way to continue his path of destruction."

"These fiends are stronger than any ones we have ever come across. We think that the Demon King kept his these fiends as reserves to be resurrected if anything happened to him, like you said." Lute said. "It seems like the Demon King had this more planned out than we had thought." She shook her head. "What I don't understand is_ why_ he would keep reserves. He was confident that he would triumph, and yet he prepared a second plan to fall back on. Do you think he was expecting the possibility of his demise?"

Myrrh was silent for a many moments before she answered. "Fomortiis was a twisted creature who thought in twisted ways. I do not believe we will ever understand him. However, he was intelligent and therefore knew out to outmaneuver his opponent. The fiends that now taint the earth were resurrected. But, by who? Who would Fomortiis entrust a portion of his soul to?"

Lute made a choking sound. "His soul?!"

The Manakete stared at her calmly. "It makes sense, doesn't it? The only source of energy powerful enough to resurrect a few hundred fiends could only be his soul—infused with his magic. Lute, when we captured the Demon King's soul, we did not imprison all of it. A piece of it, a very small but powerful piece, is still out there somewhere."

* * *

"How fare you, Artur?" 

Said magic user looked up, startled out of his thoughts. The owner of the voice, surprisingly enough, was Cormag. The army was on the move, marching toward Rausten Court. Cormag was the last person Artur had expected to see.

"Cormag! What are you doing here? On the ground?" He asked, his shock evident in his voice.

The wyvern lord patted his mount's side. "I decided to let Genarog stretch his legs a little. It's good to have a strong, fast wyvern both in the sky and on the ground."

"Oh," Artur bobbed his head in agreement. "That makes sense."

"Well?" Cormag prompted. "How are you faring in all of this?"

Artur blinked, momentarily stuck dumb. He wasn't quite sure how he was managing this situation. "I—I'm, uh, I'm fine."

Cormag nodded. "Of course you are."

The sage's brows furrowed a little. "Are you . . . trying to mock me?"

The fair haired soldier stared ahead passively. "I knew you would say something like that. It's in your nature to dismiss any ailments; you don't want people to worry about you. I can understand that; I do that enough to know what it's like."

Artur slouched in the saddle, the reins to Lute's horse slack in his hands. "I think everyone has enough to be concerned about with Ewan. I don't need to add to their worries."

"Hm." Cormag grunted noncommittally. It was neither an agreement nor a disagreement.

"He's riding in the supply wagon." Artur continued. "He still hasn't come out of whatever kind of coma he's in. He hasn't uttered one sound since returning. I don't think he's aware of his surroundings at all."

Cormag said nothing.

"I believe he might snap out of it if Kayll was still around. However, we haven't seen hide or hair of her." Artur paused. "She did say she wanted to go back, to give us some time to escape. She's still so confusing to me. I don't know if she's an enemy or an ally. I've never seen someone's motives so obscure, so twisted. What do you think?"

"As a soldier, it's not my place to think needlessly about things that are none of my concern." Cormag retorted.

"Oh . . ."

"But," He continued. "As a human, it's only natural to be curious. I think that the girl is very confused about her morals. I think she didn't have the proper guidance growing up. Also, I think only a few select people will ever be able to get through to her. I am not one of them; therefore, I do not concern myself with it."

"Oh. You have a . . . defined way of living, Cormag." Artur told him. "Very black and white."

The wyvern lord raised his brows at him. "It's the simplest way to live. It's a soldier's life. Chances are you won't hurt yourself that way."

Artur felt that last sentence was directed at him. He stared down at his hands. "Perhaps, it is something I should try. Perhaps, I would not be in such a situation if I saw life through your eyes."

Genarog suddenly halted, directed to a standstill by Cormag.

Artur, suddenly aware that Cormag was no longer at his side, stopped Lute's horse and twisted in the saddle. Cormag was staring at him with hard, unfathomable eyes. Artur felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Cormag usually saved such a look for battle. It was in these moments that Artur became very aware of the fact that Cormag had once served Grado. Even with the war over and their eyes opened to the truth, Grado still felt like the villain sometimes. Grado had been a force to fear; Artur was reminded of that even now.

"Wh—what? Is there s—something wrong?" Artur stammered, gripping the reins tightly in his hands. Some apparitions of the past couldn't be forgotten so easily.

"You are an idiot." Cormag stated simply, ordering Genarog back into motion.

Artur blinked in surprise. "Wh—what? What do you mean by that?"

He halted his wyvern beside Artur. "A soldier's life is for people who have nothing else to lean on. You, Artur, do not need such a standard of living. You have something ultimately more valuable." Cormag shook his head. "Would you really sacrifice love for a painless lifestyle? No, I don't think you would." His gaze hardened. "Nor should you."

"Oh. Love." Artur was quiet for a moment as their mounts moved forward again. "I'm starting to think it might not be worth all of the trouble."

"No, you aren't." Cormag retorted firmly.

Artur arched a brow at him. "How would you know?"

The former Grado general shot him a smirk. "You aren't me. You wouldn't think those things. You are just disregarding how much you're actually hurting."

The copper haired sage openly gaped. "Am I that—? How—?"

Cormag shook his head in amusement. "I told you, Artur, it's in your nature. You're a humble man of faith. You don't want attention drawn to you and you don't want to trouble anyone. Besides that, you are a very easy person to read and Lute has shared with me her research from her Monk Watching Habit."

Artur blushed red and pointedly ignored the sparkle of amusement in Cormag's eyes. He had asked Lute once why she followed him and watched him consistently. Her answer was simple: _"I'm researching the lifestyle of a monk and you are the perfect candidate." _He knew there was more to it than just that, but he had never questioned her further.

"You may have Sage Rank, but you are still a monk through and through." Cormag concluded.

Artur only nodded, his face still bright red.

* * *

Lute was gone; therefore, she was safe. That was one less thing to worry about. Lute's blood wouldn't be on her hands. Kayll was so relieved that she didn't feel the vicious slap that sent her sprawling onto the ground. With her burning cheek pressed against the cool stone, she panted for breath and then struggled to her feet. She faced Zinneth with a passive expression. 

"What are you going to do now, Zinneth?" She asked. "You cannot kill the magic user and you do not have any control over me."

Zinneth slithered forward, a sneer marring her wicked features. "I can wait. The female will be destroyed soon enough. You forget, Nianna, the extent of my power."

"What power?! You have no power to boast about. Have _you_ forgotten, Zinneth? I have not. I know where the true power lies and it is not with you!" Kayll exclaimed, feeling hysteria bubbling up within her. "Nothing you can do will change the truth! Everything you do is in vain, Zinneth! In vain!" Her words held a crazed edge to them; she was about to "lose it" as some would say. "You can do nothing! Nothing! No power, no control, no plan! Nothing!"

Zinneth hissed and she struck the girl again.

Kayll staggered back a few steps . . . and began to laugh.

The gorgon froze, baffled.

Kayll's wild, frenetic laughter echoed in the cavern. It struck the stalactites, ricocheting off the stone, multiplying the sound, increasing its volume. Her eyes were wide and feral, shining with a manic gleam. She couldn't control it; the laughter seemed to burst from her, leveling all of her restraints.

"Shut your mouth!" Zinneth hissed, glowering at the howling girl.

"Nothing!" Kayll shouted. "You have nothing! And you can do nothing!"

Zinneth slunk forward and grasped the girl by her shoulders, shaking her. "Silence!"

"It is hopeless!" Kayll screamed, her head lolling about as the general continued to shake her. "All of it is hopeless! Futile!"

"You know not what you speak! Your words are nonsensical ramblings!" Zinneth shouted at her.

But Kayll was still laughing, long, loud, and completely mad. "I know the truth! You cannot do anything to stop me from exposing you! You are a fake! A fraud! A charlatan! An imposter!" She looked into Zinneth's blood-red eyes. "And there is nothing you can do." She whispered. "Want to know why?" She leaned close. "You can beat me. You can torture me, Possess me, or hand me over to Drengar and let him do what he will. You can whip me, burn me, maim me, disfigure me. You can make me bleed and you can starve me, poison me, even. But," She sneered. "You cannot kill me."

Zinneth shoved her away, pushing her to the ground. "You are mad." She hissed softly.

And Kayll laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed, shaking and shuddering with the intensity of the action. Zinneth could only watch in something akin to disgust, her lip curled up at the display. Kayll was still laughing long after Zinneth had left the cavern and submerged her in darkness. She was still laughing, softly now, quietly quivering in her hysterics. She stared up at where she imagined the ceiling must be with a delusional smile on her face.

"You can do all of those things, Zinneth, but you cannot kill me." She whispered into the blackness. "It is the only flaw in your marvelous plan."

* * *

Artur watched the sky burn, set aflame by the sunset, in the courtyard. 

They had traveled all of two days with only the briefest of rests in between. Their persistent marching had delivered them safely into Rausten. They were all weary and ready to drop at any moment. However, Ephraim had request an audience with L'Arachel as soon as they had crossed the threshold of Rausten Court. The princes and princesses (and Seth and Duessel) were now meeting with the troubadour. The rest of the troops took advantage of this lull in the storm, finding places to doze and to rest their feet.

Artur had chosen to sit on a stone bench in the courtyard and watch the sky blaze with all the colors of the sunset. Blue had become orange, white had become gold, and gray had turned into red. Every color from garnet to ochre was smeared overhead as if a child had decided to mix paint with their fingers. However, the painting in the sky had an expert artist's precision and wasn't like anything a naïve child could create.

The exotic variety of flowers surrounding Artur gave the semblance of tranquility. There were gentle, subtle scents from modest looking flowers that brought the air of simple peace. There were powerful, fruity scents from vibrant, flamboyant flowers that set a relaxing, tropical scene. A few Artur recognized from his time spent in the temple. The priestesses were always bringing in vases of flowers to brighten the atmosphere. A few he recalled from his time on the road. Lute had shown them to him, explaining their uses and histories in an exhaustingly long speech.

However, despite the impression of warmth and serenity, Artur felt as cold as the stone bench he sat upon. He was wrapped tightly in his threadbare robes, attempting to keep the chill of the air out. He was quickly realizing that it wasn't the air that was cold. It was himself. If he was the epitome of Light magic, then Lute was the representation of Anima magic, Fire in particular. Without Lute and her Fire, he was cold. Light was nothing without Fire. Light was cold if the Fire wasn't there to warm it.

And, oh, how he missed her. She was his right arm. She was the oxygen in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the dreams in his sleep, the dawning of each day, and the rising of each moon. He was realizing quickly that he couldn't function properly without Lute. He had never known he could miss someone so much. He hadn't expected to miss her and her often self-absorbed outlook on life. He missed her boorish speeches, for light's sake! He hadn't realized how much of his life Lute occupied. Without her here, he found he was often alone.

It wasn't that he minded being alone. His former position as a monk had taught him that solitude wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Within solitude, self-fulfillment could be found. Inner peace could be achieved. Being alone left him room to breathe and to think.

However, right now he was trying very hard not to think. He didn't want to think about how the violet flowers reminded him of equally violet eyes. He didn't want to think about how the lilacs matched her hair. He didn't want to think about how the color gold in the sunset was associated with the sun—a source of both light and warmth.

With a sigh, Artur lied down on the bench, pillowing his head with his arm. He watched the warm, vibrant colors of the sunset give way to the bruise-like shades of twilight. He watched twilight die away as the night advanced, darkening the skies with deep, navy blues and jet blacks. He watched the first stars of the night appear, winking like best friends trading a secret amongst a group of oblivious people, smirking and grinning at their cleverness.

It might have been his exhaustion or it might have been watching the day dwindle away, but he was soon drifting into sleep in spite of the cool of the night.

"Child, why are you sleeping out here in this weather?" A soft, almost maternal, voice asked.

Dragging his eyelids open, Artur made out the face of a young, flame haired woman above him. She looked oddly familiar . . .

"T—Tethys!" He exclaimed, shooting upright.

They would have knocked heads if Tethys hadn't stepped back. She crossed her bracelet-covered arms over her torso, which was covered by a sleeveless, navel-exposing, skin-tight fabric that could hardly be called clothing. A slight wind made her long braid wave and her billowing trousers, which reminded Artur of ship sails, ruffle gently. Large hoop-shaped earring dangled from her earlobes and a small ruby jewel adorned her forehead. Her burgundy eyes looked down at him with obvious scrutiny.

"It is cold tonight, child. Why are you sleeping out here?" She reiterated with an arching of a slim brow.

"Please, don't call me 'child' and I didn't intend to sleep out here." Artur answered, toying with his sleeve. He wasn't sure why, but Tethys always called him by "child," never by name. The word, meant to be endearing, made Artur feel quite flustered. He assumed Tethys felt much like a mother with all of the young soldiers in the army. Artur was no longer a bumbling teenager, but Tethys made him feel like one.

She smiled softly at him. "It seems to me that you were going to fall asleep whether you wanted to or not." Her scarlet eyes traveled over the bench. "And I don't think stone benches are the best places to sleep, dear. You would wake up stiff and knotted and very uncomfortable."

An abashed blush crept into his cheeks. "Heh, you're right. I—I think I'm more tired than I had realized. I'm sure I wouldn't have noticed the cold or the discomfort until I had woken up."

"Well, I can't allow that." Tethys said, tugging him to his feet. "It would be cruel of me to let you bungle up this graceful form." She held him at arm's length, studying him again. "I truly think you would be better off as a dancer. There really is no future in the church."

Artur shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "I have told you before, my lady, that it is my calling."

She shot him an amused look, her lips curling into a smile. "Yes, but here you are practicing other magic. You are a Sage, no longer a simple Monk. Would it be so hard to become a dancer?" She spun him around, laughing as his surprised expression. "You are a natural."

Artur gently lifted her hands from his shoulders, trying to be polite. "I may occupy the Sage Rank, but I assure you that my heart is still with the church."

Her mouth twisted into a disappointed frown. "Pity, you would have been a beautiful dancer."

"I—I don't think that's true. I am a humble man, not one for the flash and dazzle associated with that profession." He stammered, hoping the shade of night concealed his blush.

"That could be changed." Tethys said with tone that suggested situations in which Artur would most likely make a fool of himself. However, she shook her head before he could reply. "No, we will talk about this later. You look as exhausted as I feel, but that's to be expected considering our situations. Come, child, I'll escort you to your room." The dancer intertwined their arms and she led him into the palace with confident strides.

"How is Ewan doing?" Artur asked as they walked down the corridors together.

Well, Tethys was doing the actual walking. He was doing a strange and uncomfortable limp/stagger combination. Natasha had finally given him permission to be on his feet, albeit for a limited amount of time. His leg ached with each step, but he wasn't going to say anything about it. Natasha would have him bedridden if he did. That was the last thing he wanted right now. Artur suspected that the army would be spilt into teams again to search for Lute. There was no way he was going to stay behind. He was just thankful Tethys and the others had the decency not to comment on his hindered mobility.

She patted his arm with her free hand. "You need not worry about my little brother. I am confident that he'll pull through this. He is still asleep, but I know he will wake when we need him most. You just concentrate on finding Lute. Once you have her back, I won't need to worry about you locking up that exquisite body with your odd sleep habits." She clucked her tongue. "A stone bench, of all things!"

Artur tried hard to tame his flaming face, but it was no use. Yes, Tethys made him feel like an awkward teenager with her blatant observations and motherly tendencies.

She glanced at a door and brought them to a halt. "Ah, here we are. This is your room. Princess L'Arachel was kind enough to loan the unoccupied servants' quarters to us. Most of us have our own rooms." She opened the door for him and slipped her arm from his. "Please use the bed, it's much more comfortable. Sweet dreams, child."

Without waiting for a response, Tethys ushered him inside and shut the door. Artur sighed. "I wish she wouldn't call me 'child.'"

His gaze wandered over the small, simple room. There was a bed against the right wall with several sheets and quilts stacked neatly at the end of the mattress. A small wooden dresser capable of containing a week's worth of outfits stood to his left. Hanging on the left wall was a small mirror, a table adorned with a washbasin and a few folded towels directly beneath it. Across from Artur on the opposite wall was a large window that gave him a perfect view of the night sky. The soft glow of the waning moon trickling through the window bathed the room in silver light.

Artur crossed the bedroom to the unmade bed and collapsed onto it with a weary sigh. His arms were stretched out on either side of him and his legs dangled over the side. He closed his eyes momentarily. Familiar violet eyes peered at him from the darkness. A sigh that sounded more like a pained groan escaped his lips. He turned over onto his stomach, his brows dipping down into a "V" shape, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth. A hollow feeling that was now familiar to him crept into his stomach and his heart wrenched as if it were being squeezed.

Once he had Lute safely back in the confines of his arms, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight. Not even for a second.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, I hate this chapter. I'm not exactly sure why, but I dislike it greatly. However, since my brain decided to take an unexcused leave of absence, I don't think I could rewrite it. Sigh. Well, the plot should pick up again in the next chapter. (I hope.) Man, my inspiration tank is near empty... This is not good. Oh, I also apologize for Kayll's little "episode." I was feeling rather...stressed when I wrote that. Yeah, stress plus fanfic chapter equals crappy/weird results. Well, please review. Maybe my brain will come back to me if you do. 

Ja ne! See you next week.


	33. Like a Candle in the Dark

**A/N: **Hey, sorry this is late. School just started up last week and it's been crazy since then. I haven't had a lot of time to write. Well, better late then never, right? I apologize in advance for L'Arachel's mood swings and the cheesy scenes following. I can't help myself; gooey nonsense is hard _not_ to write. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Twilight does not claim. Twilight does not own anything. Twilight loathes this part of posting a chapter. Twilight will leave now before she ruins the mood.

* * *

**33) Like a Candle in the Dark**

"You're sure?"

Ephraim nodded solemnly. "Positive, L'Arachel. We've come to blows with the fiends on several occasions. They are far stronger than those we faced in the war. We all agree that you would be a great help to us."

The royals of Renais and Frelia were sitting at a long table in one of the many conference rooms in Rausten Court. Seth was standing dutifully behind Eirika and Ephraim while Dozla chose to sit beside L'Arachel near the head of the table. The room was quite plain, having only the bare essentials such as the table and chairs. Only one or two portraits decorated the walls, proudly displaying the pontiffs of Rausten's past.

The green haired royal of Rausten pursed her lips in thought and then bobbed her head. "Yes, I do believe that the divine powers have called upon me once again!" She beamed. "Of course I will assist you in this recent struggle—it is my duty to purge the earth of these putrid abominations!"

The prince of Renais smiled crookedly, taken aback by L'Arachel ambitious tone of voice. "Yes, you have mentioned that before . . ."

She continued to smile brightly. "You need not fear any longer, Ephraim. With my help, you shall triumph over the fiends!"

"Your confidence is most assuring." Ephraim told her while rising to his feet. "Now, I believe it is time for us all to turn in. It is exceptionally late and we have traveled far in the last two days; I think we are all due for a well deserved rest."

L'Arachel stood quickly. "Of course! I'll have a servant show you to your rooms." She signaled to a young man standing near the doors of the conference room.

Eirika stepped forward to clasp the Rausten princess's hands in gratitude. "Thank you ever so much, L'Arachel. It has been an unfathomable time since I've laid in a decent bed."

Tana joined the two with a smile. "I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to a long, hot bath. It will be wonderful to finally wash off all of the grit and grime!" She seemed to glow with excitement.

L'Arachel studied both of them for a moment before marching over to Ephraim and Innes. "You _are _their brothers, are you not?" She demanded, crossing her arms.

The two princes traded wary glances. "Yes . . ."

"It is _your duty_ to care for your younger sisters!" L'Arachel exploded with outrage. "Did you hear what they said?! They only want a _bed_ and a _bath!_ Surely conditions on the road aren't _that_ bad!"

The men cringed and shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Dozla, who had been sitting quite contently at the table while watching them in amusement, stood hurriedly to place a calming hand on L'Arachel's arm.

"Gwah ha ha! Princess, please do not punish the princes. I am confident that they have tried to look after their sisters. Do you remember what it was like on the road when we traversed Magvel?" He tried to reason with her, sending sympathetic—but good-humored—glances toward the princes.

A smile bloomed on her face and a light glimmered in her eyes. "Oh, yes! I do remember, Dozla! The dust and the wind of the open road, the hard ground we slept on and the thick forests we traveled through, the stale food we ate and the pains we had from being saddle-sore—I remember it all! It was dreadful, but nothing could—or will—stop me from purging the blemishes from Magvel's beautiful face!" L'Arachel emphasized her dedication by thrusting a finger into the air.

"Gwah ha ha!" Dozla roared, throwing his head back and propping his fists on his hips as he laughed. Ephraim swore the whole room shook. "Good times, my lady! Good times!"

Innes could feel his right eyelid twitching madly. Ephraim expected Rennac to make a sarcastic comment or mutter and moan as usual. However, looking around, the Renais prince couldn't see him anywhere.

"You are forgiven, my dear princes." L'Arachel clasped her hands together under her chin. "I had forgotten how hard, but wondrous the road is. Traveling across the continent and fighting the wicked Demon King's devilish minions is a trek few partake and even fewer finish. We had sent the monsters back from whence they came, but it seems that the enemy is more cunning than we had thought!" She grinned widely. "A troubadour's work is never finished!"

Innes was aware of the jumping muscle in his brow. This woman was simply too much! He clenched his jaw to hold back a sharp retort. Tana and Eirika bit their lips together to prevent wild, hysterical laughter; their brothers' expressions were beyond overwhelmed.

"Ah . . . right." Ephraim gave a wobbly smile and then cleared his throat. "L'Arachel, I have noticed Rennac is no longer part of your entourage. Has he left so soon after the war?"

Many emotions—most of them unidentifiable—flitted across her face. Dozla took half a dozen tiny steps to the right as if to escape notice. Ephraim wondered if he would deeply regret asking the question. Finally, L'Arachel seemed to settle on an expression of solemn yearning, perhaps even regret.

"I had such hopes for that man. I had thought if I introduced him to the awesome power of Latona, I could change his ways. He was a perfect gentleman under all of those deceiving layers. But, alas," She shook her head dismally. "He returned to his filthy Carcino, determined to continue his horrendous, vile, dastardly—oh!" Her eyes widened innocently. "I mean . . . his 'way of life' as he puts it." A moment later a bitter scowl darkened her features.

"Will he not be returning?" Eirika asked with a concern expression. Now that she was more composed, her compassionate nature returned to her.

L'Arachel let loose a weary sigh. "I do not believe that all of the money in Rausten will lead him this way."

Dozla, who had deemed the situation safe again, edged closer. "Gwah ha ha! Somehow, I think we'll be seeing Rennac again soon, my lady! Once word of the fiends' return gets out, he won't be capable of refusing!"

The Rausten troubadour nodded with a knowing smile. "He _does_ like to fight . . . as long as it comes with a reward, which he'll be expecting."

"I'm afraid, princess," Innes cut in. "That news of the reappearing fiends cannot be released to the public. The people are only beginning to recover from the war. Telling them the monsters that destroyed their homes are back again will only result in mass mayhem." He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "Rennac will have to miss out on this battle. Carcino is too far away to receive immediate response. I believe Ephraim planned to move out as soon as possible in the morning?" Innes shot the said prince a questioning look to match his tone.

The soon-to-be-but-not-yet king of Renais nodded in affirmation. "I am reluctant to move the troops so soon, but our situation is dire. I don't dare loiter here longer then absolutely necessary."

"Oh my! Speaking of loitering . . ." L'Arachel giggled into her hand. "This conversation had gone on much longer than I had expected! It is unfortunate that we can do nothing about Rennac, but we all need to sleep sometime tonight!" She turned and waved to the servant again.

The tall, lanky young man was born deaf and so had not heard their conversation. He knew enough not to read lips, either, especially during an obviously important meeting. He came forward, bowed, and asked a question within his hands, which translated roughly to: "How can I help?" L'Arachel, still a little out of practice with sign language, gave him her request with the least amount of symbols possible. The result was slightly vague, but comprehensible. The servant bowed again and motioned for the visiting royals to follow him. Only L'Arachel and Dozla remained in the room.

"A marvelous dancer, too." She sighed.

Dozla watched the Rausten woman, but said nothing.

* * *

They were breaking fast when the servant burst into the room. The conversation halted and the five royals (along with Seth and Dozla) looked up at the flustered, panting young man. 

L'Arachel frowned slightly. "Vannen? What is wrong?"

"Your . . . Majesty!" He braced his hands on his knees. "There's a—a dragon in front of the castle doors!"

"Myrrh!" Ephraim leapt out of his chair, teal eyes wide with surprise. He swiveled to face the servant. "Take me to her!"

Vannen looked from L'Arachel to Ephraim uncertainly. "Ah . . . yes, milord. This way." The messenger straightened, seeming to have regained his composure.

The five royals, Seth, and Dozla left their half finished breakfast to cool and followed the fair haired Vannen through the maze of corridors. They were nearly to the doors when the servant stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" Innes asked, his brows slowly turning downward.

"This . . . dragon, she is your friend?" He asked warily, chewing on his lower lip. "This is not . . . an attack?"

"No," Ephraim answered immediately. "Myrrh is a friend—a good friend."

The servant nodded, seeming satisfied. After a moment his expression became questioning once again . "Is the loud-mouthed, violet haired, slightly daunting girl a friend too?"

Innes smirked and Tana stifled a giggle at the description.

Eirika's eyes lit up. "Lute? Lute is here too?"

Vannen fidgeted. "Uh . . . If you mean her, then yes, she's here."

The Renais princess smiled brightly, her eyes aglow. "Vannen, will you please look for Artur? He's a red haired sage staying in the west wing in the vacant servants' quarters."

With a glance at L'Arachel, the servant bowed and scurried off down a different hall.

* * *

A loud, repetitive noise roused Artur from his sleep. He blinked sluggishly, slowly realizing the flat plane he was staring at was the ceiling. He rubbed at his eyes and sat up when the sound came again. Discovering that the disturbance was an impatient fist knocking on his door, he lurched to his feet. His weak leg nearly gave out on him like it always did in the morning, but he somehow maintained his balance. Artur hobbled over to the door, cursing the lame limb that was holding him back under his breath. 

He opened the door to reveal a fair haired man in a servant's uniform—emerald tunic and trousers with silver embroidery—standing in the doorway with a raised fist.

"Um . . . hello." Artur muttered, trying to be polite despite the irate mood he was in.

"Are you Artur, the sage?" the young man asked.

Artur blinked, trying to unravel the rapid speech with his sleep-addled brain. "Ah . . . yes, I am."

The servant nodded sharply. "Princess Eirika requests your presence in front of the castle."

He frowned, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. "Whatever for?"

"That I do not know, sir. I would suggest meeting the princess as soon as possible; it seems to be important." He urged, looking a little impatient himself.

Artur glanced down at rumpled state. "Right. Just give me one moment, please."

He limped over to the mirror on the wall and attempted to tame his unruly curls. After several unsuccessful moments, he gave a disgruntled groan and turned to smoothing out the day clothes from the previous day he had fallen asleep in. Artur knew none of his efforts would make him much more presentable than he already was. He would look like he had just rolled out of bed—which he had—until he had enough time to bathe and change his clothing. He glowered at his reflection in the mirror before staggering back over to the door.

"All right, I'm ready. Can you please lead me to Princess Eirika's whereabouts?" He asked with a clearer voice.

The blond man nodded quickly again and strode down the hall at a pace Artur knew he wouldn't be able to keep up with. With a soft groan of annoyance, the copper haired magic user followed the fast-paced servant at an awkward hobble.

What a great way to start the day.

Several minutes later, the great doors to the palace were opened by the guards stationed on either side of them. Artur, holding back mutterings about his leg, limped down the sprawling stone steps. About halfway down them, he froze. Just ahead of him he could see a small cluster made up of the princes and princesses. Ephraim was talking excitedly to a small, well-known dark purple haired figure. Artur squinted and realized it was the Manakete, Myrrh.

_What is Myrrh doing here? Shouldn't she be in Darkling Woods?_

Pursing his lips in contemplation, Artur continued his slow, careful way down the stairs. Once he began approaching the group at a maddeningly slow pace—morning stiffness made it very pronounced—they turned towards him and parted. There, in the center of the group, stood an achingly familiar figure. His heart lurched painfully and shuddered to a stop. She looked a little rough around the edges, but the smile on her face and the light in her lavender eyes seemed to cover up her disheveled state. She stepped forward, slowly at first and then with increasing speed.

_Lute._

Without thinking, Artur pitched forward into a run. "Lute!"

She rushed toward him. "Artur!"

They met halfway, colliding clumsily, clinging tightly to the other. He slipped a hand to the back of her head and his other arm around her waist, crushing her to him. Artur buried his face in her tangled hair, which had a musty smell of dirt and decaying plants. But he didn't care. She was not unscathed, but safe nonetheless in his arms. He could feel her quick breaths on his neck, her rapidly beating heart against his chest, and her fierce hold around his abdomen.

Sweet, sharp relief swept through his body. His blood sang in his ears as his heart jolted back into rhythm. Artur's leg chose that moment to give out on him and he dragged Lute with him to their knees. She didn't seem to mind when Artur held her back at arm's length. His hands cradled her dirt-streaked face and his heart shivered through a spasm upon seeing tears in her beautiful eyes. His thumbs gently swept them away, leaving a path of white in the grime. He swallowed thickly and his lips shivered into a small smile.

"Artur—" Her voice was strained with emotion; she couldn't say anything more than his name.

He leaned his forehead against hers. "Don't you ever leave me behind again." The sage whispered hoarsely, his heart ready to leap from his chest.

Without hesitation, his mouth descended upon hers, conforming to the shape of her warm, pliant, slightly chapped lips. It was a tight fusion of warmth and something else that set his innards ablaze with a nameless emotion. It was lightning jolting down his throat to land almost painfully in his stomach. It was a wave of adrenaline from the crown of his skull to the tips of his toes. It was a meshing of rapid movements and soft flesh mixed with aching lungs. It was rigid muscles and flushing skin. It was a high feeling in his forehead and a tingling in his fingertips. It was everything they had been longing and aching for. It was their dreams made real. But most of all, it was the long-awaited-for confession, the defining moment of truth in its most intimate and purest form.

They parted with the taste of salty tears on their tongues, taking shuddering gasps of fresh air. Artur's fingers traced the tear scars on her face, shaking with a frighteningly powerful emotion.

His lips twitched with a smile. "You have leaves in your hair." He told her.

Lute blinked at him, dizzy and baffled. And then she laughed, quiet and shaky at first and then a little louder. It was a relieved sound, heartbreakingly relieved. She leaned against him, her cheek pressed between his neck and shoulder. Artur let his arms settle around her, feeling her body trembling with laughter that sounded more like sobs. He whispered sweet nothings to her while trying to convince himself it wasn't all just a beautiful dream.

For the first time—or as far as Artur could remember—Lute didn't say a thing. There were no witty comebacks, no long-winded speeches about his lack of dedication, no teasing remarks. Nothing. Lute could only murmur his name again and again like an incantation. It was like if she said his name enough, he would never disappear. Well, Artur didn't plan on doing that anytime soon. He was unconsciously rocking her like a mother would lull her distraught child into a deep sleep.

His relief was beyond words. His happiness was indescribable. It would only be compared to a brightly shining candle in a darkened room. It was a single, warm light that touched all of the raw, strained places in his heart, soothing away the worry and anxiety he had felt for so long. The adrenaline still flowed through his blood, but his heartbeat was ever so slowly returning to a normal pace. Never once did their hold loosen.

* * *

"Are you sure you're fine?" Artur asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. 

Lute rolled her eyes, but the smile never left her face. "I'm _fine_, Artur. Really. I'm just a bit scratched up and in desperate need of a bath—I'm fine."

His topaz eyes studied her and his mouth did a strange, twisting dance of uncertainty. He sighed. "Very well, I believe you."

"I see Kayll is not with you."

Both magic users turned to look at Innes who was sitting like a statue in an armchair. The group had moved back inside shortly after Artur and Lute's reunion. L'Arachel led them to a small, cozy sitting room where they could converse in a more relaxed atmosphere. Ephraim, Myrrh, Tana, and Eirika occupied a large couch while L'Arachel and Innes took separate wing chairs. Artur and Lute had all but collapsed onto a two-seat couch L'Arachel had called a loveseat. Both had flushed at the irony and shot the Rausten woman halfhearted glares for her scheming. Indeed, she was the one that sat them down with a wicked gleam in her eyes. Seth and Dozla were content with standing behind their charges; no amount of pleading could make them sit.

"No, she is not." Lute replied.

"She chose to remain behind?" Innes questioned, although his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Lute's mouth curved into a slight frown. "Yes . . . and no. She distracted Zinneth—that's the gorgon general—long enough for me to escape. I'm sure she would have come had she been given the chance."

"Escape?" Artur's voice went an octave higher than usual with alarm. His face instantly crumpled into an expression of concern and his hand tightened its hold on hers.

Lute quirked her lips into a half smile. "It wasn't all that bad. I was just tied up and imprisoned in an underground cavern with Kayll. It is not as if I was rendered completely helpless. As you can see, I got out in one piece."

"How is that, I wonder?" Innes murmured half to himself.

Ephraim glanced down at the Manakete leaning on his right arm. "Myrrh?"

She shook her head. "I only flew her away. She was already outside when I came. She was lucky that I had or else—" Myrrh was oblivious to Lute's pleading expression. "—she would have been overcome by the fiends."

"What?!" Artur stared down at her in obvious anxiety, undoubtedly doing another scan for injury. "You said you were fine! You said you weren't completely helpless! How is nearly being overwhelmed by fiends _fine?!_"

Lute suppressed a groan. She could see that there were going to be a few . . . differences between them in the future. She patted his hand and released a sigh. "Artur, have you no faith in me?"

He blinked, his expression changing in a matter of seconds. "N-no! That's not what I meant! I mean . . . It's just—"

"I would have been perfectly fine." She reassured him.

He glanced across the room at the guardian of Darkling Woods. "But, Myrrh said—"

"She was exaggerating the situation." Lute cut in again with a subtle but pointed look toward the Manakete.

Artur sagged against the backrest, biting his lower lip. ". . . If you say so."

She sighed dramatically, tugging her hand from his. "Look, I was fine. I had this with me." She pulled the skinny, worn out, crushed book from the hidden space between the leather padding and metal plates of her armor. The makeshift tome was now a poor excuse for a book. It looked like someone had slapped a few pieces of parchment and flimsy binding together. "It has no value now, but it was very helpful."

". . . Was that supposed to be a magic tome?" L'Arachel asked, staring at the crumpled book.

"'Was' being the operative word." Innes muttered.

"I made it myself and it worked very well, thank you!" Lute retorted defensively, holding the worthless bundle of parchment in her hands protectively.

Artur placed a hand over hers. "As long as it worked and efficiently kept you safe, I won't comment on its . . . poor state."

Lute sighed and studied the demolished condition of her once-magical tome. "It did. It worked. I didn't have too many attacks with it and I suppose I was lucky enough to have Myrrh fly over at that particular moment . . ."

The hand covering hers twitched. "Are you saying that the tome's magic expired within a few moments of Myrrh's arrival?" Artur asked quietly with a strained voice.

Lute chewed on her lip for a second, pretending to think over her answer. "Um . . . yeah, that's about right." She shot him a quick smile. "But everything turned out all right, didn't it?"

The copper haired sage released an explosive, weary sigh and rubbed his temples to ward off the encroaching headache. "I could say something, but I know you won't listen." He murmured. "I'm starting to realize that you'll do what you will without thought for consequence. I suppose I had better start praying in advance."

"You know me too well."

The couple was too busy sharing a small, tender smile to notice the admiring expressions from the women and the little smirks from the men in the room. The heavy romantic atmosphere was dashed to pieces, however, by Lute's next words.

"Oh! I nearly forgot!" Her gaze cut across the room to Ephraim. "How is Ewan? I mean . . ." A stone settled in her stomach as she thought back to Kayll's chilling words.

"_The first time it happened to me . . . I was certain I was going to die. Whether by her hand or mine, I was certain I was going to die."_

Her grasp tightened on the slim tome, now wrinkled beyond recognition. "Has he—I mean, is there any change? He hasn't . . . done anything, right?" She couldn't help how her voice shook just a little. Most people wouldn't notice it, but she was certain Artur did with the questioning way his eyes looked at her.

Ephraim exhaled through his nose and looked down at the woven rug beneath his boots. When he looked up at Lute, there was a depth to his eyes that could only express sorrow. "No, Lute, there has been no change. Ewan remains in a comatose state. There is nothing Natasha can do for him. She says it's his decision whether he wants to heal or not."

_Just as I had feared. _Lute bit the inside of her lip. _He won't help himself; he doesn't have the will to. _She fisted her hands, pulling them from Artur's grasp. _But I'll give him the will. I'll snap him out of this._

"I have an idea." She told them slowly, quietly. "I think it will work." The lavender haired mage knight looked up at the Renais prince and amended her words. "I'm almost certain it will work."

"And if it doesn't . . . ?" Innes questioned from his chair, fingers restlessly tapping the arms.

Lute directed a level glance toward him. "It will." She said firmly. "It has to."

* * *

**A/N: **Did anyone choke on the cheese? If you didn't, congratulations. If you did, sorry, I'll try not to let that happen again...maybe... (clears throat)

The next chapter might be late as well...or at least until I have developed some kind of schedule that allows time for writing. My principle said it best: tenth grade is the hardest year only because there is no room for error. Meaning: less study halls, more classes. Add in Drama Club practice every night and you get STRESS. Not a pretty thing. So, give me a few weeks before you take up the torches and pitchforks, okay? Thanks. Please review and have a good week 'cause I sure won't!


	34. Awake

**A/N: **Hey, everyone. Yeah, I know. I'm late--again. And, just to add insult to injury, this chapter is a measly 2862 words long. Remember what I said about stress? Yeah. There you go. Oh, just to make matters worse: I'm sick. Not good. I have the typical back-to-school cold. Not fun. At all. I should apologize for a crappy chapter (at least, that's how I see it), but I'm too miserable to try. Well, enjoy (if you can).

**Disclaimer: **(throws used tissues at disclaimer) Get out of here; you're ruining my day. A shame that it's already a bad day. I don't own anything. Now, go away.

* * *

**34) Awake**

"It has been brought to my attention that the capture of Nianna has been successful." Thalos rasped in his dead voice.

The Council of the Undead was meeting again in their usual clearing encompassed by trees. The council had four less members where Farrik, Bire, and their captains had once stood. Those clans had been two of the larger tribes, but it seemed size didn't make up for lack of skill where the Renais Army was concerned. Of course, being unfamiliar with the humans' fighting style was probably one of the reasons for their defeat. Only Zinneth and Drengar knew of their enemy's strategies. However, that didn't mean they would willing share this information.

Zinneth ran a clawed hand over the serpent's head that served for her right limb. She was rudely reminded of Nianna's previous remarks. _Impost, fake, charlatan . . ._ The list went on. Grimacing, she spoke up. "Yes, Thalos, Nianna is in my possession as we speak. She will not escape again."

Pedirot grunted, shifting his leathery wings discontentedly. "I should hope not."

Ruby eyes scorched beady rust-red ones, but the deathgoyle did not avert his gaze. "I guarantee she will not leave this mountain alive." She hissed, her locks echoing her with a soft chorus.

The deathgoyle general snapped his jaw shut with a click of his teeth. His nostrils flared and his eyes sent a challenge. However, much to his agitation, the gorgon ignored the look. Instead, she pretended to whittle runes with her nails into the bark of the fallen tree that served as her podium, so to speak.

The empty eye sockets of the draco zombie general seemed to glower at them with impatience. "If you are finished . . . ?" He drawled with a grating voice.

Zinneth didn't look up from her carving. "Quite. Please continue."

Thalos bobbed his skeletal head slowly. "Now that Nianna is with us once again, we must discuss our next maneuver. Zinneth, you will do as you see fit with Nianna. All I ask is that she does not . . . wander away again; she is valuable to us."

"Yes, Thalos." The half woman, half serpent creature replied with a tone that suggested boredom.

"We must resume our attack as soon as possible. Ryfon-Zahn-Syn, your scouts have reported that the humans are within the vicinity, correct?" Thalos turned his rotted head toward the three headed general.

Ryfon, the middle head, nodded. "Yes, General. My captain, Sithca, has been on border patrol. This morning he has told me that the human army has advanced. They are residing in the human city known as Rausten Court."

"They are quite close." The right head, Zahn, commented. "An attack should be simple to set up."

"Idiot!" Syn growled. "Have you learned nothing from what Zinneth has taught us?! Rausten Court is a city built on the holy powers of that accursed human god, Latona. If we try an attack while they are hiding away in that city, it will be a death wish for us all." The left head shook, his green mane waving furiously. "No, we will have to draw them out."

"That will not be necessary."

The entire council turned to watch the gorgon at the sound of her confident tone. Zinneth's lips curled into a cunning smirk and she raised her blood-red eyes slowly.

Curiosity piqued, Pedirot grumbled out, "What do you have in mind, Zinneth?"

"We have Nianna in our possession." She stated clearly, implying a plan not one of them could unravel.

"Yes . . ." Drengar said from his station by a boulder. "We do."

If Zinneth hadn't been so satisfied with herself, she could have snapped at the maelduin for sounding so condescending. However, her rare good mood made her patient.

"I would not expect any of you to know; you do not have a connection with the girl." She told them almost cheerfully. It was . . . unnerving to say the least. "I, on the other hand, do and I have viewed her memories while she slept. There is a human she has . . . grown attached to and vice versa. Should this male ever recover from the Possession I administered, he would undoubtedly try to rescue her." Her face split with a grin too wide to be appropriately happy, but not manic enough to be psychotic.

"Humans in _love_." Zahn spat the word as if it were foul in his mouth and shook his head with a wrinkled muzzle. "There is nothing more revolting."

"The feeling is mutual, dear Zahn." Zinneth murmured, still keeping a good-natured persona.

The right head of the gwyllgi general gaped openly, blinking in shock. He turned to his middle head. "Did she just call me . . ." He trailed off as if unsure it had happened in the first place.

Ryfon smirked, a curling of his lip. "Yes, Zahn, she _did _call you 'dear.'"

Syn snickered at the right head's speechlessness. "I do believe Zinneth is _very_ confident about this plan."

Recovering a little, Zahn muttered to himself, his voice still holding a stunned tone. "I think it is a sign. Perhaps it means the humans will triumph . . . Maybe we will all be obliterated by the human gods . . ."

Ryfon snorted. "That is preposterous! Stop being so ridiculous!"

Undeterred, Zahn continued to mutter. "It _is_ a sign . . ."

Zinneth only listened to the general in amusement; she was far too upbeat to be annoyed by the heads' bickering. "As I was saying, the humans will try to take her back, thus leading them from the palace. If we set the trap, we only need them to come and take the bait. We ambush them, close off their retreat, and push them into a confined space." Her serpentine eyes lit with excitement. "It will be marvelous..."

Pedirot huffed and crossed his arms, unimpressed. "_Another_ ambush scheme? The last one did not go so well. How many will be close this time? Three clans? What makes you think this one will work?" His small eyes narrowed and nearly became indiscernible from the rest of his animalistic face.

Zinneth leaned eagerly over the tree trunk. "It will work because this time we have something they want. They _will_ come and we _will_ be ready." Her gaze flittered over to Ryfon-Zahn-Syn. "Keep most of your scouts in place. Move half of a dozen mauthe doogs as far forward as possible without risk of exposure. I want daily reports. I want to know the minute the army leaves the city."

Although Zinneth wasn't technically the head general, no one questioned her when she gave an order. She had reminded them several times of her power and none of them wanted to test her.

"And once they do leave?" Drengar questioned. He seemed almost as anxious as Zinneth, but not quite to her level.

"Once they leave the city . . ." She trailed off with a silky, muffled laugh. "We will be ready."

* * *

Lute looked down at Ewan, sorrow filling her heart. Vacant claret eyes stared back up at her without actually seeing her. His face was ashen and blank, empty. Others had explained Ewan's condition to her. Every one of them described him by saying his soul had fled from his body. And, indeed, it appeared as though only a shell was left behind. He looked so small and broken lying on the bed that it made her want to cry. However, this was not the time. She had to fix this; she was the one who ruined it in the first place.

"What do you plan on doing?" Saleh asked quietly from his seat near his ex-student.

Lute glanced over at him, studying his somber expression. "I plan to rectify all of this. I'm the reason why so many are suffering. I could not look beyond my hatred and it has led to this. It only makes sense that I put together what I have broken."

His gaze became mournful. "Natasha told me there was nothing she could do. Only Ewan can heal himself." His voice dropped to a tortured whisper. "What can _you_ do?"

Lute gave the distraught sage a small smile. "I know what I'm doing, don't worry."

Saleh only nodded and said nothing more, choosing to sit quietly and watch the proceedings. The mage knight took Tethys's unoccupied chair and pulled it closer to Ewan's side. Lute took his hand, rubbing the back of it absently with her thumb. They boy had retreated within himself. It was Lute's job to bring him back. It wouldn't be pleasant and she hated herself for what she would say next.

"Ewan?" She questioned softly. As expected, there was no response. Lute drew a breath before continuing. "Ewan, what do you think you're doing?" Her voice was still soft with only the slightest hint of reprimand in her tone. "Why are you doing this? We need you, Ewan! We're not the only ones, either." She leaned forward, hovering above his ear. "Kayll needs you, too."

The hand she held twitched. She smiled.

"Yes, Ewan, you did hear right. She needs you too. But, what do you think you're doing? How could you be so selfish?"

The hand flinched again.

"You should see her, Ewan. She's so bitter, now. Guilty, to. She thinks she's betrayed you. She wishes she could have protected you. She's suffering, Ewan, and you're here wallowing in your pain."

The more Lute said, the harder her voice became. Ewan's hand was still beneath hers. The magic user could see the others in the tent frown in disapproval. She ignored them.

"Yes, what happened to you _was_ horrible in every sense of the word. But Kayll . . . what happened to her was so much worse. She needs your help, Ewan. Some of us may not have noticed it, but she's . . . different without you. Guarded and wary more than usual. I don't think she knew what she was doing when she told me about herself, but I believe she had hopes I would tell you. As a result, you would go to her. I believe she wanted this, subconsciously. How could you deny her like this? Didn't you know she would need you, especially now, or were you too absorbed in yourself?"

Brow furrowed, Saleh pushed to his feet. "Lute, please stop. This isn't helping. In fact, I think you're only making things worse."

Tethys, uncharacteristically infuriated, crossed her bracelet-adorned arms over her chest. "His spirit was broken, no his leg!" She spat. "He can't just put this behind him! You can't expect him to just—"

"Sh—she needs me?"

Saleh strode forward with shock-widened eyes. "Ewan!"

Dumbfounded, Tethys gaped. "Ewan?!" She, too, rushed toward the boy.

Lute, meanwhile, was moved aside in none too gentle a manner, but she didn't notice. Artur moved awkwardly bedside her and laced his fingers through hers. She shot him a smile and looked on as Saleh and Tethys smothered the redhead.

Natasha rescued the now-aware Ewan, moving forward to pull his harassers back. "Please, give him some space. Don't overwhelm him."

Tethys and Saleh obeyed, but jittery relief and adrenaline tensed the air. Lute could see the two were itching to crowd the patient again. When she turned to study him, she found his eyes locked onto hers. The look in those red orbs stole her breath. His wine-red eyes were dark and haunted, as if he would never be at peace. Something more intense than hope lurked just behind the pain. It was desperation. His gaze asked her silently, begged her to tell him the answer honestly. Lute knew, somehow, that he wasn't reiterating his previous question.

"Yes, Ewan, she does."

His whole body seemed to relax like he didn't have any strength left. Ewan's eyes closed and Lute saw his throat convulse as he swallowed thickly. His hands fisted the sheets around him. She would have thought he was in pain if it weren't for the tiny, shaky smile curving his lips. However, two certain people didn't notice this small detail.

"Ewan, are you all right?"

"How are you feeling?"

Lute shook her head at their concern. "He's fine." She told them with a quirk of her lips.

They glanced back at her, doubt written clearly over their faces.

Taking a deep breath and opening his eyes once more, Ewan spoke. "I'm all right, Teacher, Sis." He struggled to sit up and waved Tethys away when she moved to help him. "I'm fine." His ruby eyes found Lute's vibrant purple ones. "I need you to take me to her."

Both of his guardians squawked loudly in protest.

"No! Absolutely not! I won't stand for this!"

"I forbid you from getting out of bed!"

Ewan lifted his eyes to them, the expression on his face silencing them immediately. "She needs me."

Trading careful glances, Tethys and Saleh spoke falteringly, still uncertain as to what to think of the strange girl.

"Ewan . . . I'm sure she'll be fine."

"She _did_ want to go back."

The troubled gaze fell onto his hands. "That was an act. We forced her to go back. I don't know a lot about her, but I know enough." His hands clenched the linen sheets, knuckles turning white. "That's why I'm going after her."

Ewan's room was quiet, the air thick with apprehension. The royals standing near the door remained neutral in this situation, preferring to watch rather than contribute. Ephraim knew he would give Ewan permission to do his will even if the prince didn't think this course of action was wise. Lute and Artur stood only a few feet from the bed. They, too, were watching. They knew they couldn't interfere as this didn't concern them. Saleh and Tethys felt the strain in the room more than anyone else; they were the ones who had to finalize things even though the outcome was already decided.

The mountain sage sighed. "You've grown." He murmured, looking down at his former student with a bittersweet feeling of pride and loss. _When had he become so mature? Why haven't I noticed it?_

Ewan's mouth tilted up in a small smile. He looked up at his sister.

Taken aback, she glanced from Saleh to Ewan. She knew what she had to say and she didn't like it in the least. Tethys released a soft, sad sigh. "I guess I don't have to look out for you anymore, huh?" _He doesn't need me. I never would have thought this day would come so soon. He's matured while my back was turned. I don't know if I should laugh or cry._

A radiant smile brightened his features and Tethys did cry, a half sobbing, half laughing kind of crying. Ewan reached up and tugged her down into a hug. "Thank you, Sis. I promise I'll be back soon, okay? Then you can scold me for nearly worrying you into an early grave—how does that sound?"

The dancer held back her tears long enough to glare at him in mock anger. "If you come back with so much as a scratch, you'll regret it!"

"I know, Tethys." He said as he slipped out of her grasp. "Don't worry."

Ewan stood a little unsteadily, but his determination kept him upright. He turned to Lute. "I need a few tomes before we go anywhere."

She nodded. "I have plenty."

Artur suddenly frowned, coming to a realization that didn't sit well with him. "You're leaving _now?_"

The crimson haired magic user nodded firmly. "Yes, we are."

"So soon?!"

"I see no reason why we should wait."

Artur glanced around wildly as if to find those reasons in the air. "Well, I mean you just—you aren't—you shouldn't—!" Floundering, he looked to Natasha pleadingly. "Please tell him he can't leave!"

Natasha smiled gently at him. "I know you're concerned, but I can assure you that she'll be fine."

The copper haired man blinked. "'She?' I meant Ewan, not Lute!"

The cleric shook her head. "Your true concern is for Lute. I tell you she will be fine because she's capable of looking after herself." As an afterthought, she added, "And Ewan has no physical injury. If he believes he's up to it, then I don't see why he shouldn't go."

Panic bubbling in his chest, Artur's frantic eyes landed on Lute. Her expression was calm, patient, reassuring. He chewed the inside of his lip anxiously, pleading with his eyes. He couldn't let her go out there alone again. He wouldn't stand for it.

Drawing a breath, Artur composed himself. "If you must go, then you won't go alone."

She beamed at him. "We never said we would." Lute shook her head at him with amusement. "Did you honestly think Ewan and I would storm the hiding place of the fiends _alone?_"

Embarrassment heating his cheeks, Artur averted his eyes. "Well . . ."

Lute wrapped her arms around his torso and rested her head in the crook of his neck. "You're coming with me; I wouldn't have it any other way." She smiled when his arms squeezed her tightly. She knew he worried about her and she would try not to make it so hard for him. Besides, she wasn't going back to that horrible place without him by her side.

* * *

**A/N: **Again, give me a few weeks to adjust my schedule. And if that doesn't work out, you'll have to look forward to Sunday instead of Saturday.

Ewan's feeling better--wish I was too. (groan) I _hate_ being sick. Please leave a review if you care. Or, if you're feeling really generous, send a box of tissues with the review. Please.


	35. Break

**A/N: **Contrary to popular belief, I am still alive. But just barely. I am sad to say that, after a few weeks, I still have not found enough time to really sit down and write a chapter. This...thing...is as close to a chapter as I could manage. It's as long as the last chapter, if anyone is wondering. I can only pray that the quality is still decent. From now on, the updates will probably be not as frequent as my past updates and the chapters will be shorter. I know, I know; I'm disappointed too.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Fire Emblem. I only wish I did.

* * *

**35) Break**

The stone was hard and cold like it had been for hours. Her muscles were cramping, but she did nothing to alleviate the discomfort. She stared up into the blackness unblinkingly, sighing every so often to break the silence. The uneven beat of dripping water was all around her, but it did nothing to keep loneliness at bay. Her hands were tied to a stalagmite somewhere above her head. It was the same case with her feet, only stretched out in front of her. She had been rendered completely helpless.

She closed her eyes, but the blackness remained the same.

_Lute is safe. Ewan is, light willing, recovering._

She swallowed thickly, moving the pain of her thirst down her throat.

_If he doesn't recover . . . if he turns out like me . . . I will never forgive myself. Never._

She opened her eyes and sighed again, long and low, expelling all of the oxygen from her lungs. She didn't breathe for a moment, enjoying the searing ache in her chest cavity. Almost reluctantly, she drew in a breath of cool, musty air. Breathing was so easy, a subconscious movement. She only wished loving was half as easy. Love wasn't supposed to _hurt_.

But it did. So much.

Maybe it was why she planned on obliterating the entire peak and everything that live in, on, or around it. It was a good idea; killing most or all of the fiends would be an immense help for the humans. The possibility that she could die in the backlash only made it better. She had been contemplating the consequences for a while now, possibly more than a few hours. She might die . . . were there any downsides to that? Or she might live . . . did she want to? What if she died and Ewan awoke to a world without her? What if she lived and Ewan never recovered?

In the end, she decided it didn't matter. This struggle wasn't about her anymore, she realized. Before, when she had escaped from Zinneth, everything had centered on her. Her tentative alliance with the humans, the troubles she caused Lute and Artur, the fiends coming to attack them only to collect what was "theirs," Ewan's current state . . . it was all about her. She had caused these things to happen. Now, she saw that this shouldn't—no, wasn't—about her.

No, this was about the fiends and the humans. The fiends were King Fomortiis's minions, his loyal servants that would carry on his plan even if he could no longer be with them in a physical form. The humans—she had to call them that; she couldn't afford to have emotional attachment to these creatures—were trying to "heal" Magvel of the "plague."

However, now that she had entered the story and changed its plot, she had to erase her role in this sad drama. Things were going to end badly if she remained as she was. In order to correct the wandering plot, she had to make a few changes. Things would end happily ever after for all of them. She would make sure of it.

She would have to get out of the cavern, first. She needed to be on the surface at the center of the fiends' base. She would open the door to her locked power and let it loose. The initial wave of energy would be enough to erase those who supported the former Demon King. Their strength was next to nothing compared to the might she wielded. No one, except for Zinneth and Drengar, knew. The rest of the fiendish army was oblivious.

She found it amusing that they thought of Thalos as their leader while Zinneth held the "true power." None of them looked her way. She was just their human slave. She did everything none of them could, such as eavesdropping on commoners in the market or drunks in the tavern. She brought them information they couldn't obtain simply because of their appearance.

But that would all change very soon. She was tired of this. Tired of the hate, tired of the fighting, and tired of being used. She was a tool, she realized that, and didn't have any other purpose than being used. So what does a tool do when it no longer wanted to be used?

They break.

Her mouth pushed up into a small smile at the thought.

Breaking. She was breaking and she was taking her tormentors with her. She only needed an opportunity.

She sighed again for the umpteenth time. _I'm sorry, Ewan. I made a mistake. I should have left you to die. As cruel as it sounds, I know it would have been so much easier for the both of us. We wouldn't have had to suffer if I had chosen differently. I must atone for my mistakes, Ewan. I'll make it easier for both of us. I'll make things right again, as they should be._

Kayll lied in the damp darkness and waited.

* * *

Within the hour, the Renais Army was on the move with two more allies. They left the city with a solemn but determined air about them. They realized they were taking on a challenge no one in their right minds would consider. It left more than a few of the soldiers nervous.

They were marching towards the fiends' base at Crypt Peak . . . without a real strategy.

Myrrh, Lute, Ewan, and Artur rode at the front with the nobles. They, too, were silent as they traveled. Their minds were occupied with worries and fears. Only the sound of marching feet and stamping hooves kept complete silence at bay. They traveled miles without any of them saying a single word. Only a glance or a small, fleeting smile conveyed their apprehension. They went on like that for hours, quiet and somber with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Their pace wasn't slow, but they also weren't rushing in. This speed took them through the rolling countryside and past a few small, quaint towns. It wasn't too much longer before they saw the Woods quickly approaching.

Innes was the one to break the silence at long last.

"We don't have a plan." He stated this rather calmly, like he was commenting on the weather instead of suggesting their possible doom.

Lute shook her head. "No, we do not." She replied nonchalantly. If she had pre-battle jitters about proceeding forward without any semblance of order, she certainly didn't show it.

"Um," Artur fidgeted, picking at the fraying threads of his sleeves and glancing around at them anxiously. "W—wouldn't it be better if we did?"

Innes shot him a deadpan look that nearly made the curly redhead cower.

Artur ducked his head and licked his dry lips. He couldn't remember being so nervous. The only time that came marginally close was the moment before they took on the Demon King . . . also without much of a plan. Really, their only goal was to destroy the Demon King without getting killed. He compared the two situations and brightened considerably. No one had died when they fought with Fomortiis. Maybe this would end with the same results?

"Fear not." Myrrh murmured from beside Ephraim. "These fiends pale in comparison to King Fomortiis."

Ewan smiled halfheartedly. "That's good to know."

The Manakete girl tilted her head to the side in consideration. "Although . . . there was only one Fomortiis and there are at least one hundred or more fiends this time."

Ewan's smile faded a bit, but the determined look that had taken residence in his ruby eyes remained. "We'll win. I know it. Who else will, right?"

"I'm sure everything will turn out fine, Ewan." Eirika said with a tiny smile. "I'm confident that we'll get Kayll back safe and sound."

The distance between the army and the Woods became steadily smaller. They came to a halt before the entrance and they all stared into the gloom created by the ancient trees. Looking upon the path, the soldiers experienced a moment of déjà vu; it had only been a short time ago when they had stood in the same spot.

"It feels like we were just here yesterday." Tana murmured while gazing at the immense trees bent with age.

"Fitting, isn't it?" Lute said quietly. "The place of the Demon King's demise will be the place where his subjects fall."

"Yes," Ewan nodded, taking the first step onto the tree lined path. "That is how it will end."

The others watched him, hesitating only a moment before following him into Darkling Woods. Together, they walked into the ambush.

* * *

She stirred at the sound of grating stone. She twisted her head to watch the gorgon general slither into the cavern. The snake woman seemed to glow with triumph. She watched Zinneth with a passive face, unable to muster the energy to form an expression. The fiend stood over her, a gruesome grin twisting her features.

"It is time, pet." Zinneth told her. "It is _your_ time, Nianna."

The grimace almost felt forced as her mouth contorted at the sound of the vile name. "Whatever you are planning, Zinneth, know that I will not be a part of it."

The gorgon stroked her right limb, talons running over the scaly head absently. "You will be, Nianna; you do not have a choice."

The bound girl's gaze traveled to the serpentine head and found the eerie yellow eyes upon her. She remembered a superstition about the gorgon's headed limb. People—she wasn't sure who in particular—said that when the eyes of the head reflected your face, your time of death was soon approaching. She gazed into the vibrant yellow eyes, but could see nothing. Perhaps it meant her plan would work and she would live.

Finally, the girl's crimson eyes slid up to catch the blood-red ones above her. "I will always have a choice, Zinneth. Surely you have not forgotten?"

The spark of excitement in the monster's eyes died and the scarlet orbs became flat. "I have not forgotten, rest assured." The general said through gritted teeth. "However, I did not expect you to ever ponder that route. Would you really risk your life when you know next to nothing about the condition of your male?"

The prisoner's jaw clenched and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Do _not_ talk about him." She hissed. "He is not my male, as you so put it. He has his own life to live and I have . . . whatever is left of mine. I can make my own decisions."

"What if you find you regret your choice?" Zinneth pondered, the angered tone loosing its strength.

The blue-violet haired female grinned unexpectedly and stared up into the darkness that was the ceiling of the cavern. "If everything goes as I have planned, I will be unable to regret anything."

The gorgon general shook her head in puzzlement. "I thought you humans valued life." She muttered. "You are a strange one, unlike any I have ever met."

"You have not met enough to say such a thing." The tool spoke with some amusement in her tone.

"True," The fiend murmured. "But I never thought you to be the self-sacrificing kind."

The girl shook her head. "Oh, I am not. I simply know when fighting is not worth the trouble."

Zinneth arched a brow in skepticism. "Oh, really? Nevertheless, even if you decide to carry out with your plan—which I doubt—there is nothing you can do about the current situation."

The captive didn't try to sound interested. "What is happening now?" She asked with a sigh.

The red eyes flared to life again with exhilaration. "An ambush." She whispered in euphoria. "The humans have just crossed into the Woods. Our forces are attacking as we speak."

The human grunted, unimpressed. "Another one?"

"It is different this time." Zinneth purred in delight.

The girl lifted one brow. "How so?"

"Because, pet," The gorgon reached down and pulled her hostage up, freeing her of the rotten ropes with one, solid yank. "I have you."

Kayll narrowed her eyes. "I will not help you." She told the fiend flatly.

Zinneth only laughed. "Oh, you will. You will, Nianna."

* * *

In a split second, everything changed. What had once been solemn silence was now frenzied noise. The path had been clear one moment and the next it was filled with fiends. It all happened so quickly. There wasn't even a moment's hesitation.

Ewan whipped out a Divine tome and began blasting away with bright bursts of Light magic. Lute kicked her horse forward whilst flipping open her trademark Fire tome. Artur rushed in, calling out the chant for his Elfire. Ephraim and Myrrh moved as one, the prince raking the Undead enemies with his Reginleif and the Manakete shifting to her dragon form to wipe out the fiends with her powerful fire. Eirika and Innes were next: the princess charging forward with her rapier while Innes fired from afar.

After that, everything erupted in chaos.

Howls, chants, grunts, cries, and moans filled the forest. Flashes of steel and bursts of magic were slowly driving the fiends back. The initial wave of mauthe doogs was long gone. The mogall and gargoyle breeds where gradually disappearing, becoming the ash and dust that now blanketed the ground. Tarvos and bael units swept in from behind, causing the Renais Army to fight back-to-back.

A gargoyle was erased from existence by Lute's Fire.

A mogall sank to the ground as a wisp of dirt; Artur turned to the next one.

A tarvos was brought to its knees by Ewan's Divine, disintegrating with an agonized cry.

A bael shrieked as Myrrh's purging fire swept over it.

Ephraim's lance speared a mogall through its enormous eye.

Eirika's sword cut down another gargoyle, hacking it nearly in half.

Innes's bolt shot clean through a tarvos and the creature bucked as it fell.

And then . . . it was over. Sudden silence washed through the area as the final pained cry ended. The soldiers straightened from their fighting stances and panted for breath. A few shot each other smiles, relieved to see that their comrades had made it through another round. L'Arachel, Natasha, and anyone else who could use healing staves rushed in to take care of the injured.

"They were expecting us." Lute muttered as she stored her tomes into her saddlebag.

Ewan shook his head. "Doesn't matter. We're still continuing."

The mage knight swung into the saddle. "I never said we wouldn't. We'll have to be more careful, that's all."

Artur stood at Lute's left side. "How many do you think we defeated?"

The lavender haired magic user pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Oh, I'd say about three dozen—the usual."

Innes, overhearing their conversation from a few yards away, spoke up. "They were planning to cut down our number when they sent that many fiends." His usual smirk appeared on his face. "I don't believe they thought about the consequences of such a decision; we've taken a good portion of their total number right here."

Lute mirrored his expression. "It only makes it that much easier for us in the end."

Artur, patting her horse's nose, looked up at Lute. "Did you notice any generals in the mix?"

"I can't say for sure as generals and captains are difficult to discern from the others. However, I believe a few captains have been decimated. But, no, I didn't see any generals." The mage knight's expression soured. "Zinneth is saving the best for last."

The copper haired magic user frowned in puzzlement. "Who exactly is Zinneth? It seems to me that she's the one behind all of this."

"Well, I . . . ah . . ." Lute trailed off, uncertainty written across her face.

"Zinneth is, indeed, behind all of this." Myrrh spoke up.

All eyes seemed to turn toward the ancient entity with a childish face.

"The gorgon general was animated when King Fomortiis was still alive." Myrrh continued. "Zinneth became the Demon King's most trusted general. While it may be true that a draco zombie is far more powerful, the gorgon is undoubtedly the most influential and persuasive. It was probably why King Fomortiis chose Zinneth to lead the reserves and gave her a piece of his soul."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then: "_What?_"

Myrrh looked over at the bewildered Ephraim. "King Fomortiis's soul is the only source of Dark magic strong enough to resurrect the remaining fiends." She explained. "He had to give a piece of his soul away in order for his plan to be successful. It couldn't have been a very large piece considering how difficult the battle against him was."

Innes nodded his head. "It makes sense." He glanced at the others. "If the Demon King hadn't been the monster he was, I would have admired him for his strategic skills."

"I don't care if the damn gorgon has the Demon King's damn soul." Ewan said, bristling. "I'm going to kill her anyway."

* * *

**A/N: **Well...was it still "good"? I hope so. Well, I can say one thing: I would not want to be Zinneth right now. She's just begging to get her tail kicked. Please leave a reivew, give me some incentive to write even if it kills me. See you...er...sometime! 


	36. Nianna

**A/N: **Four day weekends rock!!! Yes, they do!! So, naturally, I spent most of it typing up this long, lovely chapter. In case you're wondering, this chapter is about 4300 words long. That's about 1200 words more than the last chapter. I must apologize for being so late, but there's not much I can do about it. Oh, I nearly forgot! Thanks to my wonderful reviewers, this fic has reached 100 reviews!!!! I'm ecstatic!! 100 reviews! Yay!! Thank you! You know who you are! Now, I think it's time for some answers to be revealed, don't you think so? But, remember, keep an open mind! A lot of things can happen between now and the next post. (wink)

**Disclaimer: **Ummm...I don't own Fire Emblem, so leave me alone!

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**36) Nianna**

Ryfon-Zahn-Syn paced restlessly, waiting for Zinneth to appear. With the way things were going, the human army would be upon them in minutes. And he had lost his captain! This was idiocy! Wasting all of their defensive units for nothing—it was madness! What was Zinneth thinking? Had the gorgon finally snapped? The heads had agreed—a rare occurrence—that Zinneth's mental stability must have been affected from housing King Fomortiis's soul. And if that was the case . . .

"Ah, my dear gwyllgi general, whatever brings you here to my humble cavern?" A silky voice asked.

All three heads looked up in unison as the gorgon general slithered out from the depths. Zahn began to growl, a soft rumble in his throat. Syn's eyes narrowed and he huffed through his nose.

"Zinneth," Ryfon spoke. "What exactly _are _you planning? You do realize that the so-called ambush failed, correct?"

She was chuckling before he had finished. "Foolish Ryfon, the ambush has barely begun."

Zahn's ruddy eyes flashed. "Three dozen of our forces are now dust upon the earth—was that planned?!"

A clawed finger ran through her writhing locks. "They were more or less the welcoming party; it does not matter if they were destroyed."

"We lost a few good captains in that skirmish!" Syn growled out, his ears pulled back and his muzzle wrinkled with the grating sound that escaped his throat.

Zinneth wore an innocent expression upon her face—if it could be called that. "What are a few captains compared to the combined might of the generals?"

"That is not the point!" Ryfon barked. "We have followed you and trusted your judgment because King Fomortiis trusted you with something infinitely precious. But now, your reckless planning has cost us a large percentage of our original number. Add up the fatalities and you will find that nearly one third of our original number has been wiped out by the humans! King Fomortiis never had that many defeats when he was alive!"

The other two heads snarled their agreement.

Zinneth's face had become oddly expressionless. "What is this I am hearing from you, General? Could it be your mutinous thoughts you have harbored for me? I do not take treasonous acts lightly, General. You would do well to reconsider what you are saying."

"Are you saying you would slay us for speaking our concerns?" Zahn snarled. "What logic is that—dispatching a strong general simply for conveying his thoughts?" The sour yellow fur on his nape rose with his anger. "How dare you suspect us of becoming traitors?!"

Ryfon glanced over at the head. "Calm yourself, Zahn." His muddy red eyes turned to the gorgon. "I know you would not be so daft as to kill us, Zinneth, but I do not know how clear your mind is as of this moment. I believe it is not . . . beneficial to us if our forces are taken down early bit by bit. If I were you, Zinneth, I would gather whatever is left of us and wait for the humans. None of this fallible trickery."

A small, amused curve appeared on her lips. "Ah, but you are not me, Ryfon. You have no power against me and, therefore, you will obey my command."

Syn shook his head. "I say it is still not wise to play around; these humans will not fall for it."

Zahn snorted, cutting off his continuous growl. "If you wish to see all of us defeated, then you will continue what you are doing."

Ryfon merely stared at the gorgon. "An unstable leader brings down the whole army."

With that said, the gwyllgi general turned and left the cavern.

It was in that moment Zinneth made the most important decision of her life.

* * *

The tense silence had remained long after Ewan's determined statement. The apprehension, however, was replaced with grim resolution; Ewan's words had struck them all. The steady bets of the horses' hooves and the rustling of the tress filled Lute's ears, gradually hammering the anxious thoughts to the back of her mind. She sat numbly astride her horse, glancing down at Artur—who more or less walked; his limp was gradually fading—occasionally when his hand touched her boot. They would trade a smile and then look ahead as if to find a way to escape the inevitable danger. As they drew closer to Crypt Peak, the ominous tension became nearly tangible. 

Then Myrrh abruptly stopped.

The rest of the line was forced to halt to avoid crashing into one another. A few irritated and curious glances were cast towards the front. Lute looked over at the Manakete with a puzzled frown.

Ephraim's expression was concerned. "Myrrh? What is it?"

"The darkness is converging." She murmured, hands clasped together over her chest. It was an automatic defensive stance she used to take when she had been the painfully shy girl Ephraim found in Grado, fresh from the cage that had held her prisoner.

"What do you mean, Myrrh?"

She had a far-off look on her face, as if she wasn't completely there. "They're gathering—all of them. They're waiting for us."

Glances were traded, passing silent questions and vague answers.

"We knew that from the start." Innes said curtly. "I don't see why we're loitering on their doorstep. We should charge on in, startle them with our vigor if nothing else."

Slowly, Myrrh shook her head. "No, that will only endanger us. We shouldn't rush in recklessly. All of them are there and all of them are waiting for our appearance."

Flushed with anger, Ewan snapped. "Are you saying we should wait?" He shook his head angrily. "We _don't have time _for that now! I'm _not_ letting Kayll stay with those fiends any longer."

Saleh stepped toward his former student and placed a hand on his shoulder. His opaque purple-gray eyes caught the claret ones burning with impatience. "Ewan," The mountain sage said gently. "Calm down. It won't help anyone to be hasty. Take a deep breath and think before you do anything else."

The wine-red eyes flashed, annoyed. "You don't understand!" He burst out. "You don't understand what she's been through—what _I've_ been through!"

Saleh flinched at this, withdrawing his hand. He took a breath and the tentativeness was gone from his expression. "And you do?" The sage asked a little sharply.

"I—" Ewan stopped short and his eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I . . . do." He mumbled.

From a few feet away, Lute sighed as if exasperated. "No, you don't."

The scarlet haired young man whirled to face her. "And you think you do?! You hate her; why would you take the time to understand her?" He spat.

Lute's eyes narrowed. It was time for some tough love. "I don't think, I _know_. It just so happens that I was in a compromising situation with her recently. It was a kind of 'you-scratch-my-back-and-I'll-scratch-yours' kind of condition. She told me a fair bit of her story—much more than you know, I'm sure. Yes, what happened to her is unfortunate, but I'm sure she'll be fine for now. She's lived for gods know how long with the fiends—what is another hour compared to that?" She sighed. "I know you're concerned, but this level of emotion is unnecessary. She'll be fine; she's not exactly a damsel-in-distress type. Just . . . calm down."

His hands clenched, forming fists. "I know you don't care what happens to her—I get that, okay? But, you can't tell me how to feel, especially when it's about her! You can't tell me what I know and what I don't know. I know I love her and that's all that matters!" Ewan shouted. With that said, he turned on his heel, robes waving, and ran.

"Ewan, wait!" Saleh started forward with an outstretched hand, but stopped short with a sigh.

Within minutes Ewan has disappeared amongst the trees. Tethys stared after him, lips pressed into a line, forehead furrowed with a concerned frown. She didn't act, however. If Saleh couldn't get to him, she knew she'd never make him see clearly. She absently toyed with one of the many bracelets that decorated her arm, praying to the light above that Ewan would be all right.

Innes grunted. "That fool is going to get himself killed." He shook his head disdainfully.

Saleh glanced wearily over at Lute. "That wasn't necessary." He said quietly.

"He was overreacting. He knows Kayll is capable of looking after herself. His anger was misplaced." Lute said patiently, smoothing out her battledress.

"I don't believe so." Artur murmured from beside her. "After what he suffered through it would make sense for him to be angry."

Lute frowned. "Ewan shouldn't allow his anger get the best of him. He doesn't even have a clue as to where Crypt Peak is. I'm positive he'll get lost, and then a fiend will find him suitable for target practice."

"You make him sound like a novice fighter." The copper haired man said quietly while studying the trees. He couldn't bring himself to admit that he was displeased with Lute for feeling the way she was. He had confidence in Ewan; if love were to prevail for anyone, it would be for the young, bold magic user.

Lute made a derisive sound. "With the frame of mind he's holding on to, he _is_ a neophyte. This is why I disapprove of relationships during war; it makes a soldier blind."

Artur did his best not to look hurt. Would love prevail for him also? "Is that so?" He murmured under his breath. He gave a subtle nod of his head. "Makes sense." he whispered.

Just when he thought everything was fine, just when he was confident in his love, she had to say something like _that_. Honestly, Artur was very confused, even pained. Was everything that had happened all for nothing? And that kiss! Was such an intimate expression so meaningless? He almost felt betrayed. Almost. He knew Lute wouldn't brush off the feelings between them so easily . . . right? Although, she was correct; romantic relationships in a war often clouded one's judgment. But . . . surely she hadn't deemed their love foolish? Maybe she had said those words without thinking.

Artur stole a glance up at her, but she seemed not to notice.

Ephraim ended further arguing by prodding his mount forward wit his heels. "Come on, we'll find him before he does anything rash."

Innes arched a brow. "You don't consider running off into fiend-infested forests without direction rash?"

The Renais prince shot the Frelian royal a long-suffering look. "Before he gets himself killed, then."

With a few disgruntled looks, they were off again. Speeding through Darkling Woods, they kept their eyes peeled for a flash of crimson hair. They dared not call out for him lest they give their positions away . . . not that charging through the Woods gave the enemy any indication of their location. Nevertheless, they tried to remain as quiet as possible while searching for the wayward young man.

* * *

"Back so soon?" She asked with a bitter, sarcastic tone. "Miss me?" 

"Silence!" Zinneth snapped. The gorgon general slithered into what the hostage referred to as her "cage." Zinneth had occupied the cavern not that long ago. And now she was back. The snake-woman seemed to pace if a serpent could do such a thing. Obviously, something was getting under her scales.

"What happened now? Did the humans defeat your last line of defense?" The prisoner asked with a small smirk.

"I said, silence!" The general turned hot, red eyes upon her. "I do not want to hear a breath from you!"

"Hmph, touchy." The girl muttered. She tugged at her new bonds. They were considerably stronger than the last rotten ropes. She thought Zinneth's display of authority was utterly worthless, however; she had to find new ropes after snapping the last pair.

She heard a low hiss right before a hand swooped in to slap her. "Bite your tongue, girl, or I will hush you myself." was the sharp reply.

So the ruby-eyed girl bit her tongue, settling to watch Zinneth agitated state rather than comment on it. She wanted to make a smart remark, though, just to spite the serpent. She didn't quiet because the general had ordered her to. No, she didn't speak simply because she was tired. So tired. She yearned for the moment when she would settle this once and for all. She would close the book on this horribly written tragedy.

"He is planning a revolt, I know it." Zinneth muttered lowly to herself.

The tied, not-quite-human girl listened intently, curious.

"I wonder . . . how many does he have? Surely not many. They could not possibly think about such a thing . . . going against me—pure idiocy!"

She couldn't help it. "Oh, I do not know, it does not sound like so bad of a plan."

The gorgon whirled and her face was contorted with rage. With one fluid motion, the general had dragged her prisoner up, snapping the ropes once again. Zinneth held the blue-violet haired girl up to her face, allowing her serpentine locks to caress the human face with their fangs.

"One more word from you, pet, and I will be forced to dispose of you immediately." The fiend general threatened with flashing eyes.

The mortal held up her hands to study the frayed ropes dangling from her wrists. "Oh, now look what you did." She commented. "You will have to find new ones, now."

The movement was fast—faster than a lightning strike. Zinneth twisted and slammed her against a pillar of rock. Pain spread across the mortal's back like pouring water, but she refused to wince. She stared back at the heated gaze calmly.

"I should have rid myself of you long ago." Zinneth told her, the words spilling rapidly from the scaly lips.

"But, you could not, could you?" The human asked with a hint of smugness in her voice. She would have smirked, but she was enjoying Zinneth's barely restrained fuming too much to send the gorgon over the edge.

"No," The general said evenly. "I could not."

"And can not." The hostage added.

A thoughtful light entered the red eyes. "No, I can. Only, not in the way you might think."

Struggling not to huff out a bored sigh, the female braced against the stone was unimpressed. "Possession will not affect me, Zinneth, you know that. You cannot kill me. You know that I will destroy that ass of yours, Drengar, even if he comes within ten yards of me. You cannot possibly 'get rid of me.' What can you do?"

"I can force you to kill everyone you love."

The captive laughed. "'Everyone I love?' What nonsense do you speak of? Was it not you who said that a monster cannot be loved and is not capable of love? Was it not you who said that humans would sooner kill me than befriend me?" Her gaze hardened. "Or was that someone else, someone who used to strike fear within me? I do not see that same person now."

This time the gorgon laughed. "You cannot trick me with your words, Nianna. I know you care for those humans, perhaps more than you would like to admit, but you do. I know you would be saddened to see them die. I know you would be heartbroken to know that you were the one who caused it to happen." Her tone became almost sympathizing. "You are only human, Nianna. Humans are vulnerable to their emotions."

The girl frowned, her brows wrinkling. "Hold, what are you saying? You call me a monster and now you say that I am human? What am I? I cannot be both!"

Then, something strange happened. Zinneth suddenly froze and gave a small gasp. Her eyes widened as if with realization. There was a long moment of silence in which Zinneth set her back on her feet, almost gently. An apologetic smile appeared on the snake-like face, but there was something in the crimson eyes that looked horrified.

The not-quite-human-but-not-quite-fiend was baffled. "Why?" She asked simply. "Why do you say those things? You threaten to kill me, to make me kill 'everyone I love,' and then you pardon me for being 'human.' What are you saying?"

"Ah, Nianna, you must forgive me. I have forgotten that you do not remember." Zinneth apologized, her composure slowly coming back to her.

The girl took a step back. "What is this?! What are you doing?!" She demanded shrilly.

"How can you possibly know, pet?" The gorgon told her almost softly and shook her head. "You cannot. So, I shall tell you who you really are. However, it will not matter much as you will be dying soon. King Fomortiis would frown upon me for doing this, but I believe he has waited long enough to be reunited with you. I believe that if you know the truth, you may be easier to handle—more docile."

The girl with twilight colored hair continued to back away. "Who I really am? 'Reunited?' What are you talking about? What do you mean: 'who I really am?'"

Zinneth sighed softly and draped an arm over the girl's shoulders. "If King Fomortiis were still in this world, he would have punished me severely for my treatment of you since he passed to the next realm of existence."

Confused and angry, she pulled away from the hold. "Tell me! What are you talking about?!"

However, the gorgon continued to talk half to herself. "Yes, King Fomortiis would be greatly displeased if he knew how I had treated you, Nianna, his mate."

Liquid ice had taken the place of her warm blood. "Wh—what did you say?"

"None of us know how you could possibly have forgotten him, pet." The general continued. "He was greatly saddened by your death in the first war. It was why he struck so violently upon the humans this time around. He was so happy to have found you again, Nianna. So happy that he did not take his own death into consideration when he engaged the humans in battle. He loved you dearly."

A sudden rush of rage welled up within her. "Lies! You speak lies! No, I will not listen! You cannot brainwash me anymore, Zinneth!"

The serpent looked truly hurt. "Lies, pet?" She echoed. "Why would I lie to you about your mate? _How_ can I lie about his love when the evidence is clearly all around you?"

"What do you mean?" The mortal asked coldly.

Zinneth slithered forward to make up for the lost distance. "The reserves—they were for you. We are your army, your guard. We weren't meant to continue this war—we were hidden on and in this earth to protect you from the humans. However, when we found our king slain and our queen ignorant of the truth, we had to retaliate." She seemed to sink in upon herself with guilt. "I was so angered by your state of obliviousness that I reacted in the worst way possible." The blood-red eyes caught those of the human's. "Forgive me?"

Horror-filled, the blue-violet haired female shook her head frantically. "No! No!" She shouted. "They are all lies! Stop it! I will hear no more!"

"Oh, Nianna. You are so confused and it is my fault. Allow me to explain." The general begged.

"No! _No!_" She screamed. "I do not want to hear it! I do not want to hear your lies!"

The serpent smiled softly at her. "If they were lies, would you be reacting like this?"

She was frozen. She couldn't speak. She couldn't speak because she knew Zinneth was right. She would have known they were lies if they truly were lies and she would not be acting like she was. Was she horrified because she was finally seeing the truth? Or was she horrified because she didn't know what was true, because she didn't remember her past with which to compare to?

"To answer your earlier question: you are neither human nor fiend. Your body may be human, but your soul is the Queen Nianna reincarnate." Zinneth folded her arms around the petrified girl. "It will be all right, Nianna. The truth is this: King Fomortiis lost you in the first war to the blade of the enemy's assassin. He was heartbroken and it led to his demise. When he was resurrected for the second time, he took full advantage of it. While he battled the humans with the power of Hell, he searched for you with the determination of love. It was with this dedication that he did find you, but you were convinced into thinking you were a poor smith's daughter living in the plains not far from the Woods. He ordered that you be brought to him and you were."

The gorgon glanced down at her. "You remember, do you not? You were terrified of him and he was saddened by your loss of memory, but he loved you nonetheless. He had your memories of the false life you had lived erased in hopes that you would remember, but you did not. He set aside a few hundred of his forces to act as your protectors. He hid some of us away, but I remained present, acting as your servant. Since you did not know who you truly were, we kept you away from the eyes of your people. They knew their queen had returned, but they never once glimpsed her."

Pausing, the serpent sighed. "And then the attack on the Black Temple happened. King Fomortiis was slain and I took you away. You were lucky to have such a brilliant mate. He planted a bit of his soul within you so he could always be with you and so you would always have a way to protect yourself. It was by using the power buried within you that I was able to resurrect the reserves. But I was angered by my king's death and I abused the opportunity. In my blind rage, I used you as a tool and it was what you became in the eyes of the fiends. Your protectors became your masters."

Zinneth pulled away to look down sorrowfully into her eyes. "I am truly sorry, my queen. It was many months later when I told Drengar the truth out of guilt. He was shocked, but he could not see you as his queen. So, we decided to keep the truth a secret." The gorgon's eyes where then lit with anguish. "And now I must kill you. This war has gotten out of hand. I have finally seen the truth, Nianna. We—you and I and your guardians—could have lived peacefully in Darkling Woods, albeit under the watchful eye of the Great Dragon, but I ruined it in a moment of weakness. Now, the humans are knocking on our door and our forces are threatening to revolt. I have decided that it was time to send you on to the next plane of existence to be with your king and mate. It is my fault that everything is crumbling, so I will stay behind to bear the punishment."

The general reached out with her left hand. "Come along, my queen, it is time for the finale."

Numb, Nianna put her hand into the scaly one waiting for her. Together, they rose out of the cavern and stood before the crowd of the remaining fiends. Zinneth smiled down at her. The blue-violet haired girl looked out over the swarm of fiends and something within her snapped.

A war was taking place within her. Kayll screamed and thrashed and cursed Zinneth out, outraged at the blatant lies and how easy it was for the gorgon to trick her. Nianna, however, held up a hand to Kayll as if to shush her. Nianna, mate to King Fomortiis, looked upon her "people" and felt a sense of familiarity returning. Kayll, rebel to the end, grappled with the alien, docile Nianna. The Demon King's mate fought back just as viciously.

There were two—no, three voices shouting within her mind. The third voice, the third identity, was a silhouette of a girl, a shadow of someone she had been long ago, and someone she no longer remembered. All three of them were struggling for dominance. She was Kayll, hot and fiery, cold and bitter, strong and weak. She was Nianna, loved and cherished, powerful and reborn, mate and lover. She was a faceless girl, calm and friendly, shy and passionate, creative and content.

Who was she? Where did she come from? What world was hers? Whom was she loved by, hated by? Where did she belong? What story was true and what tale was false?

"Kayll! Kayll!"

She twisted and her eyes landed on a youthful face, fearful and joyous, concerned and—what is love she saw in his eyes? The crowd twisted with her and every blood-red eye locked onto the figure running towards her. Oh, that face. How familiar it was. How foreign it was. How admirable it was.

And then the chaos locked within was released in a torrent of black flames.

"_No!_"

* * *

Myrrh screamed and collapsed to the ground. 

With a shout of surprise, Ephraim vaulted from the saddle to kneel beside her. He cradled her trembling form in his arms. "Myrrh! Myrrh! What is it? What's wrong?!"

"It—it's been released." Myrrh whispered in a quavering voice. Her eyes were wide and her hands held Ephraim's forearms tightly.

"Brother, look!" Eirika gasped out and pointed to where everyone else was staring in something akin to awe and terror.

Ephraim glanced up through a break in the trees to see an inferno rising above the treetops. But, what made dread drop in the pit of his stomach was the sight of _black_ flames. Dark flames rimmed in deep violet were flickering into the sky with vengeance, wild and turbulent.

Artur reached up to grasped Lute's hand. She returned the hold with a squeeze. Approved or disapproved by her, it didn't matter now. They loved one another and they both knew they would need this inner strength to survive whatever was to come ahead. His caramel brown eyes locked on the unholy flames lashing above the green foliage in the distance.

Things had suddenly taken a turn for the worst. He knew that whatever was to come would undoubtedly be the most dangerous battle any of them had ever fought.

* * *

**A/N:** There! Hopefully, this makes up for the long, cruel wait. Hopefully. But, please don't flame. If you find this chapter unsatisfactory, simply say so in a polite manner. I don't think my self-esteem could handle a severe bashing AND a crammed schedule. Besides, flames are bad for inspiration. Do you really want to read another sucky chapter? ...I didn't think so. 

And, as for the plot bomb...ah, just hold on, okay? Don't jump to conclusions just yet, 'cause I'm not done. There's more, trust me. If you review nicely maybe it will motivate me into finishing the next chapter with faster results than this one. Okay, see you...er...next time!


	37. The Weight of Love

**A/N: **Wow. Has it been a long time! I've been busy, busy, busy. ...Need I say more? You all know how it is...I hope. Well, to make up for my unusually long absence, I have--I believe--the longest chapter in the entire fic. Does that sound good to you? I'm sure you can't possibly wait any longer, so go ahead and read!

**Warning!** **This chapter is rated Mature simply because of the graphic violence toward the end. If you cannot stomach gore well, please skip the section, which will be indicated as follows: "XXXWarningXXX". This warning is placed for precautionary reasons and the fact that I do not want to be flamed for incorrect rating. This will be the only part in the entire fic that will be rated "M". I do not believe I should have to change the rating for the whole fic because of the content of one chapter. Thank you and happy reading.**

* * *

**37) The Weight of Love**

"Kayll! Kayll!"

She turned and found his face. The struggle between the three identities ceased as the chaos locked inside was released in a torrent of unholy fire.

And there he stood with eyes confused, concerned, and fearful in the path of the explosion.

"_No!_" She screamed and, with all her strength, reined in the Dark magic. It wavered in the air around her, tremulous and unstable. It would only take one moment of lost concentration to destroy the whole area around her. She looked over at Ewan, face twisted with the effort it took to hold onto the power. "Run! Leave! I can't protect you!" she shouted, her panic warping her words.

A disapproving look crossed his face and he held a magic tome tightly in his hands. "Kayll—"

"Go!" She screamed at him, panting with exertion. The Dark magic was fighting for control, pressing on her barriers.

He still hesitated.

"_Go!_"

His expression was torn, pained. His scarlet eyes flickered over the scene, over the stunned, uncertain fiends; over Zinneth who was recovering from the brief attack; over the ruby-eyed girl with a contorted expression of concentration. Slowly, he opened his tome and glanced again at her, unwavering determination in his eyes.

She knew he wouldn't leave, so she prayed he would live. It was only then that she acknowledged the emotions she'd felt upon seeing him. Sharp relief washed through her. He was okay. She repeated that thought in her mind. Joy sang in her blood. He didn't blame her; she could see that in his claret eyes. Her heart ached with a feeling she couldn't name and it beat so rapidly she feared it would burst from her chest.

_He's alive and he's here . . . for me._

She let go.

A hoarse cry escaped her as the Dark magic—King Fomortiis's magic—surged forward with renewed vigor. The vile flames leapt outward again, swallowing up the fiends frozen in terror, snatching the monsters running from the outburst. However, the Demon King's magic could not breach the pillar of gold light towering in the air in her peripheral vision.

Kayll, Nianna, and the girl without a name cried out in unison as their collective strength left them like the rushing of water freed from the confines of the dam. The flowing energy seared her as it left its cage of flesh and blood, leaving a raw pain in its wake. The nameless girl fell away under the power and her essence burned to nothing. Kayll struggled, reaching for a hold on the rampant magic. Nianna simply stood back and watched, a little confused but quickly becoming supportive; this was who she was supposed to be after all. Kayll wanted this, wanted the fiends to be destroyed in one fell swoop, but she didn't want Ewan to be injured. But, trying to hold back the power felt like grasping water; it flowed through her fingers freely.

And then it was gone. The magic just . . . disappeared. It was spent, she realized. The Demon King's magic was gone from her, released as a purging fire. There wasn't a drop left. It was strange. She felt hollow, empty. She wasn't sure if this was good or bad.

Slowly, she looked around and found nothing save for proof that she had lost control of the secret that had been locked within her for years. Trees had been leveled as if a hand had swept over the area and knocked everything down. Bits of rock—the remnants of boulders—littered the ground. Crypt Peak looked like something had slammed into it, leaving a large impression in the cliff face. Grass, or what there was of it, had been burned away to wiry strands of brown as if all life had been leeched from it. Finally, blanketing the whole area was a thick layer of ash and dust. She could not be sure if all of the fiends were dead. Surely some of them had escaped.

"Kayll!"

She turned and saw Ewan emerging from the shield of Light magic, looking intensely worried. She fell to her knees suddenly, feeling oddly weak. It was as if the support beams of her body had been removed and she, like the unstable exterior of a house, collapsed.

"Kayll!"

He was running toward her now, calling her name in urgent tones. She fell forward and tried to brace herself, but her arms folded at her elbows. The ground rushed up to catch her. A strange numbness swept through her, dulling her senses.

_What's happening to me? Why do I feel so . . . transparent, like I'm not really here?_

"Kayll?" He was beside her now, shaking her shoulder. "Kayll, are you all right?"

She was fading, she could feel it. "Ewan . . ." She whispered as she reached out to touch his hand. He grasped hers firmly. "I can't feel you." she told him before her eyes slipped closed.

* * *

Something strange was happening. That much Lute was sure of. The fire dancing above the treetops had flickered out for a few moments. Then it suddenly shot skyward again, raging wilder than before. However, Lute was more concerned about the small, wavering tendrils of golden light that only just managed to reach above the foliage. The light could only be Ewan and that meant the battle had begun. She was about to share her observation when something even stranger happened. 

A few dozen, possibly three or so, fiends rushed toward them almost in a panic, bringing an air of mind-consuming terror with them.

The monsters didn't seem to notice them at first; too busy were they with fleeing. When Lute shot off a Fire, however, they shook off their frenzied state and stood still. The two sides stared at one another for a second, reclaiming a frame of mind used for combat. The tension between them was broken when the cyclops general—it had to be a general for it was too large to be a simple soldier—lunged forward with its immense axe. The skirmish began with its usual war cries and the sound of steel on steel.

While this fight seemed to be like any of the previous ones they had struggled through, Lute knew this one was different. There was a tangible strain in the atmosphere unlike any one she had ever known. She couldn't place a name to it, but the sensation was strong and feral. It felt like everything was depending on the outcome of this particular battle. Perhaps this was to be the last one. If so, this was their last chance to get it right.

As she took down another tarvos, she wondered if this clash would end in any way that could be considered "good." She looked up in time to see the elder bael looming over Artur several yards away.

And the fool didn't even notice it.

Her heart leapt and she turned her mount sharply, kicking it into a canter. Lute pulled the Bolting from her saddlebags and the incantation fell from her lips like falling rain. The attack, to her dismay, skimmed over the monstrous spider's back. She allowed one moment to ponder, angrily, how it had missed. The flash of the magic and the piercing shriek that emitted from the fiend caught the attention of the former monk. Artur whirled to find long, scarlet fangs bearing down on him.

Even from a distance, Lute could see the blood drain from his face. Cursing under her breath, the lavender haired mage knight readied another attack, the words forming on her lips. Artur, on the other hand, froze in mind-numbing horror as he faced his phobia. Another Bolting came streaking through the air and this time hit the elder bael square. A wicked grin found her face as Lute watched the frightful spider sway and fall, slowly disintegrating as it lurched toward the ground . . . and toward Artur.

Fear twisted her heart again as she saw him bring up his arms as if to defend himself from the falling, mostly-solid beast. The treacherous fangs, seeping venom, dropped and simply grazed his arm; Artur had enough sense to flinch away. Lute heaved a sigh and reined in her mount to a halt while the carcass dissolved to nothing. She swung from the saddle and hurried toward the petrified magic user.

"Artur . . . ?" She asked carefully as she approached.

His cinnamon colored eyes were round and wide, shining with his terror. She could see the minute trembling of his limbs. Suddenly, his knees gave out and he slumped to the ground. His hands clutched the loose earth, his stark white knuckles standing out.

"Artur," Lute kneeled beside him, casting a quick glance around for enemy forces. Fortunately for them, Garcia and Ross provided a human shield, hacking down the fiends before they could reach Lute and Artur. "Will you be all right?" she asked softly.

A silent moment passed before Artur jerked his head in a shaky nod. He slowly looked up at her with an equally shaky smile. "I'll b-be fine." He mumbled out, swallowing thickly.

Lute smiled crookedly at him. "We've really got to break you of this silly fear."

"S-silly? H-how is it silly?" He stammered out.

She looked at him seriously. "It was just a spider."

"A freakishly huge one!" Artur gasped out.

Her smile faded as her eyes looked him over for damage. "And a venomous one." Lute murmured, taking his wounded arm in her hands.

Artur made a small sound of agreement at the back of his throat. He quickly looked away and she couldn't tell if he was queasy or ashamed. Lute ignored this and turned to rummage for an antidote in her saddlebag. Finding one, she returned to the pale, copper haired sage's side. She pressed the vial of medicine into his hand and proceeded to shred the hem of her skirt. As Artur gulped the antidote down, she wound the fabric around his arm tightly, tying it off above the wound.

He looked down at his limb in amusement. "My fingers are going to tingle from the loss of circulation." Artur murmured.

Lute shot him a wry look. "Do you want to lose your life?" She shook her head and said vehemently, "Idiot, you didn't even notice it behind you!"

Artur nodded slightly, still stunned.

She couldn't take it anymore.

Lute threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Gods, I was scared." The adrenaline flowed steady through her veins and her fingers felt cold as they dug into the fabric of his clothing. She could hear her heart beating quickly in her ears and her mouth was uncomfortably dry. She hadn't been just scared—she had been terrified, if only for a moment. Lute could still see it playing through her mind: Artur, face contorted with pain as the elder bael embedded its fangs into his flesh, falling beneath the weight of his attacker. She pictured his blank, lifeless eyes and held him all the tighter.

She didn't want to imagine a life without him. It seemed too painful to even think about. She depended on him in seemingly small ways, but it was those little things that meant everything to her. He was her voice of reason, her shoulder angel. He reined her in when she grew too arrogant and supposedly all-knowing. She could depend on him because he was so steady, so trustworthy. Artur might not be the typical, confident man with a scar for every fight he'd won, but that was all right. He was fine the way he was.

They were like a candle, Lute realized. She was the flame, all hot and flickering, powerful and dangerous if not handled properly. Artur was the light, soft and comforting, steadfast and guiding. There couldn't be one without the other. That is how it should remain. If she had lost him, lost her light, she would have lost control and destroyed everything with the power of her grief. She didn't want that to happen—wouldn't allow it to happen.

"Lute, I don't understand." Artur said quietly in her ear.

She heard the frown in his voice and pulled back enough to see his face mirror his tone of voice. "What do you mean?"

"Earlier . . . you said you didn't approve of relationships during wartime." He turned his confused eyes up to hers. "If that is so, then what are we?"

_What is he . . . ? Oh! _"Artur, I-I didn't mean that." Lute ducked her head, a bit ashamed. "I was so used to separating my feelings from the battle . . . I spoke without consideration. I fight my best when I don't allow any emotion to affect my performance. When I said that, I was a cold, killing machine. Not Lute." She looked up at him again. "Will you forgive me?"

His copper head tilted to the side slightly. "So . . . you didn't really mean it?"

She laughed softly. "Artur, are you really that insecure with the thought of 'us' that you would question everything I say?"

A blush smoothed over his cheeks. "Um, well, you haven't been the most clear to read . . ."

Now it was Lute's turn to flush, but with shame. "No, I haven't and I'm sorry about that." She arched a brow at him. "You still haven't answered my question."

Artur blinked, his face blank for a moment. "Oh! Right." A small smile quirked his lips. "Of course I forgive you. It's not possible for me to be angry with you; I love you too much for that."

Warm relief spread through her as she stood, pulling Artur up with her. "We should return to the battle; we can't take advantage of our shield's compassion."

He nodded firmly. "Right."

He picked up the tome he had dropped and grasped it tightly. They glanced at one another, shared a minuscule smile, and hurried forward to lend their help.

* * *

Saleh fought his way through the throng of fiends, keeping an eye on the gold and emerald dragon that appeared and disappeared on occasion. The Great Dragon would appear in one location with a blast of hot, fiery breath and then would disappear into her much smaller form as a human. Saleh would see the grand form of the dragon again in a different spot than the last a few seconds later. He panicked a few times when Myrrh didn't appear after a seemingly long period of time that was only a minute or so in actuality, but then she would materialize again and his racing heart would calm slightly. 

Whilst looking after Myrrh, Saleh smashed through every fiend in his path with a frigid shot from Fimbulvetr or a blazing explosion from Purge. He trailed after Lady Myrrh, determined to stick to his duty of protecting her. However, it didn't seem as though the Manakete needed protect when she had her almighty Dragonstone with her. The sage admitted to himself that Myrrh had, indeed, grown experienced with the art of battle. She no longer seemed so timid. Of course, war had that effect on people.

It was by following Myrrh that he came upon a strange scene that struck him with relief and apprehension.

Myrrh glanced back at him once before moving to kneel beside the frighteningly still Ewan. She gently took his hands, prying them from the unnaturally immobile girl's shoulders. Wordlessly, the guardian of Darkling Woods wrapped her arms around the boy. Saleh could hear a soft sound, like a hummed lullaby, from where he should several yards away.

Slowly, uncertainly, he walked toward his former student. His mauve eyes glanced down at the blue-violet haired girl. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as pale as snow. Saleh guessed what had happened and crouched beside Ewan.

The boy's dull claret eyes looked up at him. "She won't wake up." He croaked out.

Saleh's heart clenched. _How can I tell him such a cruel truth?_ He opened his mouth to explain, but Myrrh cut in.

"She's just resting, Ewan." The ancient girl told him softly. "She'll wake up soon enough. She has been through much and this is her body's way of coping."

The sage's heart twisted again. Why was Myrrh saying that? It was obvious that the motionless girl was dead. "But, Myrrh—"

"Saleh," The Manakete withdrew her arms and looked up at the sage with an expression that warned him to be silent. "Could you please heal her?"

With a minute frown marring his forehead, Saleh nodded and searched for sacred stave among his tools. He absently administered his healing magic to the girl, not finding any physical wounds on her person. Myrrh probably had asked him to "heal" Ewan's friend to calm him down. However, what surprised him the most was finding that the girl was actually still alive. He could sense her faintly beating heart and her lungs struggling to pull in a breath. Narrowing his eyes, Saleh knew she was, undeniably, alive as Myrrh had said, but he couldn't be sure for how long.

"When will she wake up?"

The Great Dragon glanced back at the crimson haired boy, looking hesitant. "I cannot be sure, Ewan, but she will. Eventually."

The magic user only nodded his head, his eyes traveling back to the form lying before him. Several, silent moments passed before he spoke again, but he seemed to be talking more to himself than anyone else.

"I was afraid." Ewan murmured, drawing his knees up to hug them to his chest. "I was afraid, at first. I'd thought she'd gone, but I was foolish to think that. I knew she hadn't left yet; she would say goodbye first. I know she would. She wouldn't say if out loud because she wouldn't want anyone else to know what she really felt. No, she'd say it silently, but I would know." His eyes took on a far-away look, becoming hazy and unfocused. "I would know."

Saleh stared at his former student with concern. Ewan's heart was too far immersed in this war. When—not if—the girl that had kidnapped his heart died, he would be beyond devastated. Saleh didn't know how to tell him this, wasn't sure it he wanted to.

Ewan picked up her left hand and smoothed it flush against his cheek. "I would know."

* * *

Zinneth lowered herself to the ground, hissing softly as a spasm of pain twitched in her side. The gorgon inspected the wound carefully. A large, oozing burn ran down her right arm and jumped to her torso, extending to where her hip would be were she human. Black fluid seeped from the raw, charred flesh, smearing over her sickly yellow and scarlet scales. 

The gorgon general hissed out a string of creative curses. She had barely managed to escape the explosion alive. Zinneth honestly hadn't thought the girl would go through with her threat—even after learning the truth of her existence But she had, and the general felt rather like a fool for giving Nianna the chance to catch her off-guard.

The gorgon, fortunately for her, had avoided most of the damage. Seconds before Nianna had released the vile flames, she felt the magic stirring within, awakening. A split second had told her that the only reason this energy was rousing was to be released; the locks on Fomortiis's magic had always been firmly closed. So, with speed often associated with a striking serpent, she moved. Zinneth that managed to travel a fair distance that resulted in minor injury compared to the wounds she would have received had she been beside Nianna. Nevertheless, the incident had ended in major loss; she was sure most of their number was wiped out. It left only a small amount of their forces left—if any.

Zinneth pursed her lips and blew out a breath through clenched teeth. Her tail curled as she rode another wave of searing agony. The gorgon inspected the serpent's head that substituted for a hand. The burns stretched all the way down her arm, over the forehead and down around the mouth. Zinneth would never fire off another Shadowshot again; her limb was too damaged to channel the magic.

But she couldn't blame the girl. Her queen had probably been overwhelmed. Yes, Nianna had been beset with surprise and reacted in the only way she could. Seeing the truth had opened the doors to King Fomortiis's power and the shock had subconsciously triggered the first defense it encountered, which in this case was a bombardment of demonic fire.

Zinneth wondered absently if her queen was still alive. The girl had been subjected to numerous "training sessions"—the gorgon now frowned upon her actions—in the past to strengthen her immunity to Dark magic. However, the general wasn't sure if Nianna could withstand the magnitude of King Fomortiis's awakened magic. It could have destroyed her.

The remorse that rose up within Zinneth at this thought was dashed as she remembered—with much distaste—she had spotted that troublesome human youth at the edge of the crowd. Frankly, she hoped he had perished in the blast.

Her thoughts paused for a moment.

. . . Why was the human conscious, let alone on the battlefield? Nianna's first Possession had rendered her nearly catatonic for a week. Why hadn't his Possession done the same?

No, it mattered not. Zinneth would find Nianna—if she was still alive—and search for her fellow generals. They still had to defeat the humans even with their depleted number. The gorgon just needed to get up first . . .

"_General_," A rolling voice said sarcastically.

Zinneth's eyes slowly traveled to the right, revealing a bristling Ryfon-Zahn-Syn. With reinforcements. What remained of the Council of the Dead stood to one side with accusatory glares. The gorgon suppressed a hiss of ire. Instead, she pulled on a smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace.

"You have found me, dear Ryfon-Zahn-Syn." She said with a tone of amusement. "I guess the game is up."

"_Yes_, the game is up." Zahn echoed with a snarl. "Do you even realize how far you have dug your grave?"

"Quite far, I presume." The serpentine woman mused nonchalantly.

"Farther." Syn said shortly.

Beside the gwyllgi general, Pedirot snorted derisively. "You never had the power. I cannot believe I actually took your word as the truth." The deathgoyle shook his head. "We have been following the direction of a fake."

Zinneth kept her tone friendly. "Ah, Pedirot, you have found me out. I feel so embarrassed. Who was I to claim our Queen's power as my own?" She chuckled sadly. "I deserve whatever punishment you dole out."

"Our 'Queen?'" Zahn asked, his muzzle wrinkling in suspicion.

Drengar, standing on the gwyllgi's left, sighed. "She means to say that the human slave is our Queen reincarnate."

"_What?_"

Zahn snarled at the wounded gorgon and the deathgoyle general emitted a strange much like the combination of a shriek and a roar. Syn pulled back his ears and Ryfon's muddy red eyes narrowed to slits. Thalos, standing at the back of the group, released a rasping hiss from his rotted lungs.

Pedirot turned to the maelduin and gestured with his lance. "You knew of this blasphemy?"

Drengar's nostrils flared wide and his scarlet tail lashed his flanks. A hoof stomped in indignation. "I may have known, but I did not agree with the arrangement."

Zinneth's locks announced her agitation. "Drengar, you traitorous nag!" She dropped her gaze, shaking her head. "You always were the one to save your own hide, worthless though it may be."

Ryfon glanced between them and snarled for silence. "Quiet! I want the truth. How did this happen, Zinneth?"

The general lying on the ground looked up at the gwyllgi with a sour expression. Grudgingly, she told the whole story. She explained how their King sought his Queen day after day without success. She described the day they razed a village, how she herself had found the whelp of a girl cowering in the smoking embers of her home, how that human bore an uncanny resemblance to the late Queen Nianna, how she had stolen the girl away from the ruins and hid her away in the mountains. Zinneth told them how she brought King Fomortiis to the young human, told them how the dark, ancient eyes had flared with awe. The Demon King had made it clear that this whelp was his Queen and that no one could say otherwise. She described the Demon King's careful handling of the queen incarnate, the gentle words and soft embraces. She admitted to the generals that she believed King Fomortiis didn't care that his Queen had been reborn as a human, nor did he care that the young queen recoiled from his obsessive, albeit gentle, advances. However, no matter how much their King doted on the young human, the girl would not accept anything from him.

She outlined the day their King had decided to give Nianna a portion of his soul, a piece that would always protect her. She told them of King Fomortiis's plan to set aside a few hundred of his soldiers that would act as his Queen's guard should something happen. Even if all of the fiends resurrected were destroyed, an army of decent size could always be summoned. She revealed to them that she had acted as the Queen's most trusted bodyguard and servant. With some regret, she explained how the reserves had been resurrected—through violating the sanctuary of Nianna's soul and abusing her power. Consumed by greed, Zinneth had continued the charade as master over the Queen.

When Zinneth finished there was an odd, contemplative expression on her face. "Everything the King did was out of love for his Queen." The gorgon murmured.

Zahn wrinkled his snout. "But the girl is a _human_." He shook his head. "How could King Fomortiis confuse the Queen with . . . _her_?"

The wounded general's mouth pulled up into a smirk. "It is not my place to judge. Nianna is the Queen; that is the bottom line."

Pedirot frowned. "But it is obvious that the girl is nothing like Queen Nianna. Why did he proclaim that she was the Queen? It does not make sense." His ruddy crimson eyes narrowed as he looked at the gorgon general. "Unless you convinced him?"

For the first time, Zinneth's expression twisted into true fury. "I would never do such a thing! What could I possibly gain from that sort of trickery? You insult me deeply."

"You once told me that the King's happiness came first." Drengar said quietly.

Pedirot's eyes widened and he pounced on the vaguely implied confession, which could very well be nothing in the end. "Oh, you wicked, wicked thing!" He scolded. "That was why you treated the human so cruelly!"

The gorgon trained a bored stare on the deathgoyle. "What are you blathering on about now, Pedirot?"

So caught up in his epiphany was he, the bat-winged general hopped on the spot, pointing a finger at Zinneth like a human child might teasingly point a finger at a guilty playmate. "You hated the Queen—or at least the new version of her—because she stole the heart of _your _King!"

The serpentine fiend's eyes became nearly invisible slits in a second. "Elaborate, Pedirot, or I will tear you to shreds."

However, the deathgoyle continued as if he hadn't heard the threat. "You were just too noble to admit how brokenhearted you were, Zinneth. You took the human to the King because you hated how miserable he must have been without his Queen! You must have simply _loathed_ seeing the King so happy—with that _human_ no less! When you had your chance, you took out all your anger and jealous rage on the unsuspecting human!" Pedirot laughed heartily, a heavy, huffing sound. "How delightfully spiteful of you, Zinneth. I would congratulate you, but this whole situation is too entirely twisted for my taste."

**XXXWarningXXX**

He began laughing again, the sound growing hoarse with the effort. However, the noise was abruptly cut off, replaced by a strange gurgling and a small, nearly inaudible rasp. Zinneth, grimacing with the consequence of the swift movement, could only look down in satisfaction. The black blood gushed down her fingers, both warm and cool at the same time. Slowly, she braced her right elbow against Pedirot's chest and pulled her venom-secreting nails from the deathgoyle's vivid, purple throat with a tiny squelch. The body dropped to the ground and it crumbled into ash sluggishly.

The gorgon flexed her hand and tasted one nail, relishing the bitter tang of magic-born blood and acidic sourness of her venom. "You were the first to figure it out, dear Pedirot. It is a shame that you did not live long enough to fully enjoy your revelation." Her blood-red eyes slid to the right, taking in the unsettled expressions of her fellows. "I may have to destroy all of you as well."

Zahn, the first to recover, snorted. "You are already wounded gravely. You would not stand a chance against all of us."

It only took a concentrated gaze and a few seconds. A moment later, the combined, agonized howls of Ryfon and Syn followed. The gwyllgi general's right head, known as Zahn, was now a petrified limb.

"Doubt me not, dearest Zahn." Zinneth murmured, a smirk settling on her features.

Blinded by pain, the gwyllgi charged with much snarling and flashing of fangs. Zinneth's sinewy body slithered out of the way, her own pain momentarily forgotten. The two-headed hellhound quickly corrected its path and lunged, the heavy right head lolling about in the air as it did so. The gorgon once again slipped to the side and dug her nails into the canine's side as it charged by. Ryfon and Syn emitted twin high-pitched, keening howls as it loped a few strides before collapsing to the ground, the black blood flowing freely from the fatal wound. The general trembled as it stood, strips of flesh dangling from its side. Blood splashed the ground as it leapt into a run, a chorus of snarls ripping from the heads' throats.

Zinneth twisted sharply, her tail tangling in the gwyllgi's legs. The two-headed canine fell again, its blood dousing Zinneth in a shower. The gorgon worked quickly, winding herself around the hellhound's body. She gripped Ryfon by the throat, smiling widely at the bloodlust she found in his muddy eyes. Her nails wove into the thick, sour yellow mane, searching for the jugular. The tips of her nails scraped against Ryfon's flesh and the head released a whine that rapidly transformed into a growl.

Syn lurched forward and bit into the charred scales of the gorgon's right arm. Zinneth's eyes flashed with pain, but she did not relinquish her grasp. Syn shook himself, his fangs breaking scales and ripping muscle. The gorgon hissed through clenched teeth as her blood spurted, freckling the left head's face. She tilted her head slightly and the nearest locks struck with incredible accuracy. The tiny heads' fangs dug into the soft jelly of Syn's eyes and tender flesh of his black nose. The left head liberated the gorgon's right arm with a keening yelp of pain. Ryfon, too, howled as the toxins sped through the veins of his left head.

Zinneth hissed softly in pleasure as her nails finally found the precious vein throbbing with life in the middle head's throat. "I told you a long time ago, before we plotted our revenge against the humans, that your brash right head would get you in trouble. It is a shame that you had not heeded my warning."

The wicked nails pierced the vulnerable flesh and ripped the jugular from its safe confines. Ryfon didn't have time to make a sound. Instead, his eyes rolled up into his skull. The head slipped from her grasp, now slick with blood. The body landed in a heap and rattling breath shook the carcass as it left the lungs. Syn, who had been alive to experience the death of his middle head, quickly joined the rest of the heads in a black oblivion as he was unable to labor through the functions of living on his own. Within moments the hellhound's corpse dissolved away to nothing.

**XXXEndXXX**

The gorgon turned to the two remaining generals, who simply stared back. "Would you like to fight me as well?" Zinneth asked.

Drengar and Thalos examined the scene with a glance: the piles of ash, mournfully proclaiming the deaths of two valued generals, and the gore-splattered serpentine general. It was an easy question to answer and their silence was enough.

She smirked. "I did not think you would. You two are intelligent creatures; your lack of contribution to these foolish fights proves that much." Zinneth crawled over to them, holding her damaged limb gently. "We are all that is left; the others have either perished in the explosion or met their fates at the hands of the humans."

Drengar's tail flicked to one side. "What are we to do now, Zinneth?" He asked tonelessly.

The gorgon let out a weary sigh. "It seems so pointless, now, does it not? What can three generals do, after all? We have failed our King and the Queen has, undoubtedly, returned to the clutches of the humans. Even if we do manage to steal her back again—if, mind—she would be useless to us. That explosion she made was the release of all of the magic within her, including that of the King. She is shell, nothing more. She will likely die; her body would have gone into shock from the absence of such great magic."

Zinneth glanced back at the two. "We cannot possibly take on the humans as we are now. Additionally, I cannot resurrect any of the deceased; that would mean having the full power of the King _and_ enough residual substance to create a fiend. Perhaps you both would have been better off fighting me. It would have been a mercy killing." Her gaze locked onto the empty sockets that served as Thalos's eyes. "You are Head of the Council, why do you not make the decision?"

Thalos said nothing.

The gorgon chuckled mirthlessly. "To think, this all began with love."

* * *

**A/N: **Hopefully, this will satisfy you for now. I'm happy to say that I _will_ have more time to write after this week. Once the drama production (which I'm acting in) is over this weekend, I will have much more time. I will definitely finish this fic before the spring production starts up. You will not have to endure any more slow updates from Saturday and on. Since the fall musical is on both Friday and Saturday, I will not be able to update until next week. Afterward, things should return to a normal rhythm. 

See you then!


	38. Goodbye Beautiful Day

**A/N: First:** If you are having a nice, enjoyable Thanksgiving Day, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER. Yes, I said it. If you are having a good day, DON'T read, okay? I don't want to ruin anyone's day. So, come back another time. Now, you're probably wondering: "If you didn't want us to read it, why post it today?" Well, I have a reason to be angsty on Thanksgiving, so lay off! **Second: **I know, I lied. The updates aren't coming any faster even though I said they would. Rather, they're coming slower. I'm a bit surprised no one has come after me with a death threat yet. Oh well. **Third:** The reason _why _I haven't updated in nearly a month is because my friends had the "brilliant" idea of creating a manga (Japanese comic, just in case you didn't know). Guess who was stuck with the job of drawing it all? Yep, moi. So, that's slowed me down by...a lot. **Fourth and Final: **I will try to update sooner. I promise, okay? No lies this time. Besides, it would be horrible of me to leave the fic hanging _now_, of all times. You'll see why.

All right, I have one more thing to say. The title of this chapter is actually the title of a song. I don't know if any of you recognize it, but you really should listen to it sometime. It is so beautifully tragic that I _had_ to use it for this chapter. Again, you'll see why.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Fire Emblem and I'm looking forward to the day when I don't have to continue writing this stupid disclaimer. Also, I do not own the song "Goodbye Beautiful Day" by Aviatic.

Enjoy!

* * *

**38) Goodbye Beautiful Day**

Ewan looked down at the pale face framed by locks of twilight fanned out on the pillow. For the thousandth time he begged the closed eyes to open. But, for the thousandth time, they did not. He sighed for the umpteenth time that hour and squeezed the unresponsive hand yet again. He closed his aching eyes for a moment.

What had happened? How did this go so suddenly wrong? He couldn't remember. The reasons why seemed so trivial now. Kayll was unconscious. Had been for hours. He wasn't sure how long. But, when he pressed just right with his fingertips, he could feel the fluttery pulse in her wrist. If he listened closely, he could hear her lungs pulling in each small, raspy breath. What did that mean? He didn't want to know. And, if he closed his eyes and concentrated—like he was doing now—he could see the future.

The land would be restored to its former glory, no longer scarred by the toxins of war. The people would be happy for there wasn't any darkness. No, light was everywhere. It was in the sky as the sun and the moon and the stars. It was in the hearts of everyone in the forms of love and hope. It was in Kayll's eyes whenever she looked at him. And it was most assuredly in his eyes whenever he looked back at her. It was a perfect world. A perfect future.

"Ewan,"

He opened his eyes . . . and reality returned. He was sitting in the infirmary tent, hunched over Kayll's cot, his fingers loosely intertwined with hers. The lighting was dim—evening, perhaps. His limbs were numb from being in such an uncomfortable position for so long. Glancing around, he could see the other wounded soldiers occupying similar cots with loved ones stooped in similar positions. It had been hours since they had retreated from the battlefield with the wounded . . . and Kayll. She was somehow different than the rest of the wounded, like she couldn't be included under the category. She was more of a victim of war than anything else. But, in a way, weren't they all? However, no matter how he looked at it, Ewan couldn't place Kayll on the list with all of the others.

He followed the hand on his shoulder up to the owner's face. Saleh. Of course.

"Teacher," Ewan croaked out, his voice box scratchy from disuse.

The older man's gaze was soft, compassionate and gentle. "Ewan, you should lie down and get some sleep." The voice was equally soft and just as gentle.

A small frown puckered the crimson haired mage's mouth. "I can't. What if she wakes up when I'm not here?" He shook his head. "No, I'm staying here."

"Ewan," Saleh's tone became exasperated. "You were just dozing not a moment ago. I don't think she would blame you if you slept for a few hours. Besides," He glanced away. "She . . . might not—"

"No!" The boy's face contorted in anger. "She will! She will wake up! She—she wouldn't . . . wouldn't go unless she said—said goodbye." He stammered towards the end, overwhelmed by an unfathomable despair at the notion.

The mountain sage sighed wearily, his face drawn and pale. "All right. All right. Have it your way." He held up his hands to show his former pupil that he wouldn't interfere. "Just . . . try to relax a little." With that, Saleh retreated with slumped shoulders.

Ewan had never seen him look so old. Remorse soured in his stomach, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He shouldn't have let his anxiety get to him, shouldn't have snapped at his teacher. The man was only trying to help, after all. Still . . .

The boy looked down at Kayll once again.

How could anyone help now?

* * *

With a tome tucked under her right arm, Lute ducked into the infirmary. After a quick scan across the cots, she spotted Artur. The copper haired man was sitting on the edge of his cot, his hands clenched around the edge of the thin, feather-stuffed mattress. His head was lowered as if he was meditating deeply on something that held a large amount of gravity. The mage knight strode toward him, blocking out the cloying despair in the large tent. She stopped before him, looking down at him for a silent moment, debating whether to rouse him from his thoughts or to wait for Artur to come out of it himself.

Seeing her creased, worn boots (for they could only belong to Lute what with the odd good-luck charms she had decorated them with; a tooth of some animal or another, a twisted wreath made from a withered plant root, an oddly shaped rock, and a small wooden figurine that resembled a bird), he spoke. "Hello, Lute." Artur lifted his head and looked up into her violet eyes. "What brings you here? I had expected you to be with the clean-up crew."

The royals weren't positive that all of the fiends had been destroyed; there had been a large number of them—it was possible that some had escaped—and Lute had reported that there were a few generals she hadn't seen at the battle, namely Zinneth and Drengar. Ephraim and Innes both agreed that it would be best to send out a few three-man cells to sweep the area. This search had been going on for a handful of hours, the teams alternating each hour.

A lilac colored brow rose. "I came to check up on you, why else?" Lute responded with a tone that clearly told Artur it should have been obvious.

"I'm fine, you know that." Artur assured her.

Lute sighed. _Modest, as always. _She sat beside him and covered his right hand with her left. "Artur, that elder bael was venomous. The Antidote that I gave you wasn't very potent—that's why I marched you straight to Natasha afterwards. Of _course_ I'm going to check up on you, make sure there wasn't any lasting damage."

Artur turned his hand over to squeeze hers reassuringly. His voice was tender when he spoke. "Like I said, Lute, I'm fine. Natasha gave me a quick once-over and said I didn't need to worry about anything. Your coming here means a lot, though, thank you."

Lute was a bit surprised when a small wave of relief washed through her. She had known he was going to be fine, but it was good to hear it all the same. "Gods, you're too modest." The magic user said affectionately, leaning over to place a small kiss on his cheek. Unexpectedly, Artur turned his head at the right moment and captured her lips with his instead. The oral embrace was soft and sweet, warm and reassuring. Lute knew then that no matter what might happen in the future, everything was just right for now. Everything was perfect for now. It was good enough to last for when the time came for everything to fall out of place again. She knew this moment would get her through; she was positive the rough times were far from over.

"Modest, but perfect." Lute amended, her lips brushing his when she spoke.

She felt him smile. "Now we go home happy, right?"

Lute sighed and leant her forehead against his, closing her eyes. "If only it were that easy."

"Come on, now." Artur slipped his arms around her, pulling his mage knight against his side. "The worst part is over. It can only get better from here. Watch and you'll see; it'll all be all right again."

Lute took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. She couldn't honestly say that it was the most pleasant thing in the world—he was dusted with ash and blood that wasn't his own. It gave him an acrid, smoky smell that was rusty around the edges with dried blood. But, underneath it was a scent that was purely his. It reminded her of a warm summer sun and impossibly blue skies. It reminded her of hope, something that she hadn't had a lot of throughout this long, wearying struggle.

"I dearly hope so, Artur. I truly hope that's how this will end."

* * *

Not far away, another conversation was being held over another cot. This discussion, if it could be called one, was rather boisterous. Natasha had threatened to throw anyone who wasn't an invalid out to maintain the peace. Naturally, Forde and Kyle seemed to be in the middle of it, or, rather, Forde as he was normally the one to cause the disruption. But, joining him, where Syrene and Vanessa; they also had something to say.

This time it was Kyle lying on the cot, quickly becoming the type of disgruntled patient that hated visitors and wouldn't take his medicine. Syrene stood beside him on one side of the bed, arms crossed. She was the perfect example of someone who has had enough and is about to explode on anyone unfortunate enough to bother her. Vanessa sat on a cot nearby, her left arm splinted and resting in a sling. Forde stood beside Vanessa, eyes dancing mischievously like always.

Syrene huffed out a sigh, uncharacteristically irked. "You just _had_ to play Hero again, didn't you?"

Kyle shifted uncomfortably on the cot and winced. "I had no other—"

"Don't you _dare_ give me that excuse!" The Frelian falcoknight cut in. "You had several options. You just chose to throw yourself in front of that maelduin."

Kyle grimaced in reply. Couldn't everyone just accept a kind gesture these days?

Forde laughed. "And then it hit you one with its axe! Sailed clear out of the saddle, you did. You must have flown, what, twenty feet or so before landing on your head." His mouth twisted into a wide grin. "Good thing you don't have anything valuable in there, huh?"

"Forde . . ." Kyle growled out a warning, but the cavalier seemed not to have heard.

"I could've sworn you'd be down for awhile, but no!" Forde shook his head. "You jumped right back up and charged the stupid thing—on foot no less! You reminded me of Gerik the way you came down on it with your sword." The honey haired man touched his chin thoughtfully. "But, I think my favorite part was when you missed the monster _completely _and it sent you flying—_again_—with a swift kick. If Syrene hadn't finished it off, I'm sure you'd have a lot more than a concussion and a few broken ribs."

"Is that right?" The green haired cavalier glared at Forde with twin pools of evergreen. "Were you there for Vanessa?"

Instantly, the laughing smile vanished from Forde's face. He glanced quickly at the pegasus knight, his face paling a shade or two. His blue gaze returned to the almost-smug cavalier. "H-hey, now. That was a low blow." Forde stammered. "You and I both know Vanessa can take care of herself."

"Really?" Kyle mocked, directing a point look at said knight's broken arm.

A bit annoyed, but not overly so, Vanessa propped her good hand on her hip while narrowing her eyes at Kyle. "Yes, really. I _can _take care of myself, no matter how ludicrous that may seem to you, strong, manly men. This," She gestured toward her injured arm. "was my own fault. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings and was shoved from my seat by a low-flying deathgoyle. I fell—not far, mind—and landed wrong. It's not as if Forde could have jumped from his saddle to tackle the fiend."

Kyle spoke directly to Forde, ignoring Vanessa. "See, you could have caught her had you been there."

The normally upbeat soldier was stung, for lack of a better word. An almost pained look passed over his face briefly. "I—"

"Oh, for light's sake!" Vanessa got to her feet and took the few steps to stand as close as she could to Kyle. The serious Frelian woman leaned in close, invading the cavalier's space. "You and your Hero ego can stop right there! My injury was due to my own carelessness, nothing else. Forde couldn't have prevented it even if he had wanted to. Moreover, he doesn't _have_ to. I am a Frelian Pegasus Knight! I have earned my place _because_ I took responsibility for my actions! I didn't rely on anyone to save me and neither did my sister."

Syrene nodded in approval and took over where Vanessa left off. "So, you can stop the Hero act and leave my sister and me to do what we do best; fight and survive."

Forde watched the sisters gang up on Kyle with some uncertainty. He saw the conflicting thoughts pass over the green haired man's face momentarily. Forde bit his bottom lip, deciding he wouldn't interfere. Kyle needed to learn that sometimes you couldn't save everyone because not everyone wanted to be saved. Still, Forde couldn't shake the feeling that he should have supported Vanessa in some small way.

Kyle regarded them with a grim expression. "I see. Very well, I'll do my best not to . . . get in your way, ladies." His deep green eyes caught Syrene's. "I'll take the Hero act down a notch. Are you satisfied with that?"

Syrene stared back at him with a serious visage. A moment passed and the stiff expression left her face. She sat down heavily on the cot and placed a hand on Kyle's knee. "No, don't do that." She said with a sigh. "You just wouldn't be Kyle without the overprotective bravado. I like you, Kyle, even the annoying, overbearing side of you. I wouldn't be happy with anything otherwise."

Forde saw his friend's usually stiff features soften. He saw the small smile the two shared, the intense gaze they traded. Forde suddenly felt as though he were intruding on something private. Vanessa returned to her seat on the other cot and pulled the blond cavalier down beside her.

"I'm happy for them." She told him quietly.

Her tone caused Forde to look at her. The serious woman who could be Kyle's twin in an alternate reality was actually revealing an emotion other than strained tolerance for him or stoic observance. Her eyes were soft as she looked upon the two who were quietly conversing, separate from the others in their own little world.

"I hear wedding bells in the future." Vanessa whispered to him.

Forde blinked twice quickly, startled. "Um, for who exactly?"

Her green eyes glanced at him with amusement. "For them, of course."

He nodded slightly. "Ah, yes, of course." His sky blue eyes flickered over to the pair again.

Vanessa studied the easygoing cavalier from the corners of her eyes. _Who knows, perhaps there may be another pair of bells._

* * *

"Ewan."

The voice was faint, as if spoken from a far distance. The boy, finding himself wrapped in a thick blanket of darkness, tried to reach through the shifting shadows to the voice. Who was it?

"Ewan. Ewan! Wake up!"

Was it . . . Saleh?

"Wake up!" An exasperated sigh. "Come on! Up you get!"

Hands shook his shoulders and Ewan's eyes snapped open. He blinked in confusion, sitting up slowly and looking about at his surroundings. He was . . . in his tent. How did he get here? His claret eyes sought Saleh and silently demanded the question.

A wry smile crossed the mountain sage's mouth. "You fell asleep despite your efforts. I brought you here when I found you drifting in dreams." The kind, patient aura suddenly slipped away, leaving Saleh harried and insistent. "Now, come! You are needed elsewhere!" His former teacher pulled him up from the sleeping roll and steadied him as he stumbled.

Ewan felt unexpectedly uneasy. This impatient and agitated man wasn't Saleh. Something was wrong; Ewan felt it like a man could feel his death prowling outside the door, anxious to enter to claim its prey. The fiery haired magic user tensed, his entire body locking up with barely suppressed fear. "What is it? What has happened?" He asked in a hushed whisper, feeling the blood drain from his face.

For a moment—just a split second—Ewan saw the pain that flashed in Saleh's mauve eyes.

And then he was running.

Running like he could slow the passage of time. Running like he had only minutes to live. Oh, the irony.

Tents passed by in blur of dusk-darkened tarp. Heads turned to watch his rapid progression, their gazes sympathetic. The stars, peering out from behind the still-visible clouds, seemed to urge him on. _Faster, faster, time's almost up._ The sound of his boots smacking the beaten ground echoed in his ears, in beat with his blood pounding through his veins. His eyes were trained on one point of muted light; the collective glow from the lamps and candles within the infirmary. He burst through the entrance of the large tent, drawing the attention of visitors. Ewan ignored them, though, and strode toward the corner of the infirmary the mattered the most. He saw Natasha standing there, in the way of his line of sight. His heart gave a painful leap and he ran the rest of the way. However, the young sage stopped short by a few feet, uncertain and afraid by the cleric's presence. Ewan clenched his hands repeatedly, his body all but thrumming with adrenaline.

Natasha, hearing his approach, turned to him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

_Light above . . . _

She took a few steps toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't hesitate, Ewan; there isn't any time for that."

Her words, meant to be encouraging, sent a chill throughout his body. The boy felt cold, so cold and so scared. Natasha squeezed his shoulder and left them alone. Licking his dry lips and swallowing past the lump in his throat, Ewan took that last few steps to her bedside. _Gods, she looks so . . . She's beyond pale; she's transparent. Gods . . . _

Kayll's eyes opened slowly and locked with Ewan's. Her mouth quirked into a half smirk. "There you are. Been wondering . . . when you'd show up." She sounded breathless when she spoke, forced to take pauses between words. "Called for you. Heh . . . Saleh went runnin' . . . to find you."

Ewan had frozen when she'd opened her eyes. His breath had solidified in his lungs, like ice, when she had spoken. Kayll was awake. The thought ran through his head like a ceaseless mantra. Perhaps he wouldn't have been so surprised if he had stayed to listen to Saleh. _But I had been so worried . . . for nothing. She's awake. Maybe a little worse for wear, but she's awake. That's all that matters. _

The relief that swept through him—the raw, utter joy—was painfully sweet. It was so strong—just as strong as the rush of fear—that it made his heart ache and his stomach constrict. The relief was like the first sips of clean, pure water after spending days in the hot, arid desert. For a moment, his perfect future flashed in his mind, strong and radiant.

When the high of relief left him, Ewan noticed something . . . off. No, not off, just something different about her. He studied her face for a moment and then it finally struck him.

Her eyes.

They were no longer their glaring, blood-red hue. Her eyes were no longer cold and flat—like Zinneth's. There was nothing menacing about them, nothing empty. They were warm, he decided. The new eyes were natural with her face, full of something he couldn't quite name; they fit her just right. The brilliant scarlet had been replaced with a cool, silver-tinted blue—another soft shade of twilight. He wondered if Kayll knew about this change.

He reached out and took her hand, a smile breaking out on his face, threading his fingers through hers. "Sorry, I was just, ah, informed. So . . . you'll be all right?" He wasn't sure what had possessed him to speak the question. Of _course_ she was going to be all right. She was awake, wasn't she? The world would be right again.

Her half smile slowly faded. Ewan saw a sharp emotion appear in her eyes before her gaze dropped—a cocktail of sorrow and fear. He felt his stomach constrict again—and it wasn't from relief. He was reminded forcefully of the same pain that had flashed in Saleh's eyes (_faster, faster, time's almost up_) and of Natasha's words.

"No, Ewan. I don't think so."

The cold swept over him again.

"N-no. Don't—don't say that." His voice shook with terror. _No, it's not possible. It's just not possible! She's awake, by the gods, awake! She's supposed to get better! She's supposed to—and our future! What about that? What about that, damn it!_

"Ewan . . ." Kayll's voice was strained, tortured. Her silvery blue eyes looked up at him, pleading with him to accept this because she needed him to be strong for her.

"No!" He nearly shouted the word, so intense was his horror.

"Ewan . . ."

He gripped her hand hard enough to induce pain, but her gaze never flickered. "No, Kayll, no! It's not supposed to be like this!"

"_Ewan . . . !_"

He shook his head firmly. "Not like this! Not _at all_ like this!" His eyes burned into hers. "_Not yet._"

Kayll's eyes were too bright, but her voice was still clear. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "For everything . . . and nothing."

Identical tears pricked his eyes and Ewan collapsed onto the chair waiting for him. His eyes traveled to their clasped hands, the white knuckles standing out. "Why?" He asked in a ragged, hushed voice.

"Why not?" She smiled bitterly at him. "There wasn't . . . any other choice . . . that's all."

Ewan stared at her for the longest of times. His sight blurred now and then, but he dared not blink. _She might disappear if I do. _He stared at her, burning the memory into his brain. Her limp, twilit hair spread out on the pillow; her pallid, sunken cheeks and prominent cheekbones (_how could she waste away so quickly?_); her sparkling, silver-blue eyes; her thin, drooping eyebrows; her small, innocent nose; her plush lips, dark against her skin; her round, strong chin; and her hand in his—he would remember it all.

"No . . . I suppose there wasn't." Ewan admitted. The words hurt him, like he had just confessed that there wasn't any way to save her; sorry, but we tried. It was then that the tears broke through the dam and washed his cheeks. He hung his head so that Kayll wouldn't have to see.

She squeezed his hand. She had seen, anyway. "Ewan,"

Her perfectly calm voice made him look up, despite his tears.

"I want . . . to see the stars." She smiled at him in a way that told him she was okay. She was okay with whatever came next. It was that gentle honesty that tore at him. "One last time . . . that's all I want."

(_faster, faster, time's almost up_)

He nodded, swiping at the slick trails on his face. "All right." Without another word, he picked her up, blanket and all. She wrapped her arms around his neck like a damsel in distress that clung to her hero. Except . . . Ewan wasn't a hero. Not at all. And when everyone turned to watch him carry her out of the infirmary, he felt like a man carrying his lover to her grave. _Dearly beloved, we gather here today_, he thought and his heart twisted in agony.

Ewan carried her outside, holding her tighter when she shivered in the night air. Ewan carried her far from the camp, away from the melancholy candlelight and the empathetic gazes. He could feel her weakly beating heart, could hear her shallow breaths. He walked until he couldn't see the camp, couldn't hear the goings-on of the hale and sound. Ewan stopped where the grass was lush and tall, soft and tender. He lowered her to ground with the gentleness of a father with his newborn child. He tucked the blanket around her and lied beside her.

Silently, they stared up at the stars that were sprawled above them like scattered pebbles. The heavens were clear that night, bright and brilliant with millions of twinkling diamonds, stardust floating around them like a glimmering cloud. The vast expanse of blue, black, and every hue in between glowed with angel tears—that's what he had always called them. For every person that died on this earth, an angel shed one tear, which crystallized in the night sky to serve as a marker, a gravestone so to speak. That night the angel tears shone and twinkled as if observing this quiet time, this sorrowfully bitter but content time. Their light flickered and flashed briefly, as though they were crying. Ewan's heart cried with them.

Kayll turned in to him, tucking her body against his for comfort and warmth. Ewan pillowed her head with his right arm while its brother curled around her waist. "Ewan?"

"Yes?" He buried his face in her hair, remembering her scent. It reminded him of heartbreak and incomplete moments. It reminded him of dreams that never came true. And it would always remind him of a clear night full of angel tears.

"There's so much to say." She whispered into his tunic, into his heart.

"I know." He whispered back into her hair.

"But, there's nothing to say . . . in the end, is there?" She asked, her voice but a breath.

"No, there isn't." Ewan agreed, his voice almost as soft.

"I wonder . . . what do you say . . . in the end?"

He embraced her tightly, pulling her flush against him. His eyes squeezed tightly together. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" He said painfully.

Kayll inhaled deeply and then exhaled. Her breath heated his skin briefly. "Yes."

They lied together beneath the heavens, holding on to one another and loving silently. With every weakening heartbeat, the bond between them, the love they shared, only grew stronger. He wished time would stop. He wished they could be suspended in this moment forever so he could preserve the gentle silence, the tenderness that hovered in the atmosphere. But it wasn't to be. A life without her, that's what it came down to. Gods, he didn't dare think about that. No, he wouldn't think about the past or the future. He would savor this moment and the next and the next until . . . until the end. Whenever that would be.

Ewan lied there with his arms wrapped around her tightly. She was still here, still warm in his embrace. He would long for this feeling later, when he was alone in bed. He breathed in her heartbroken scent. He would remember it. He listened to her ragged breathing and erratically thumping heart. Those sounds would haunt him during the silent moments afterward. He withdrew a little so he could peer into her quicksilver eyes. Would he ever get over the contrast of silvery blue and blood-red? Perhaps not, for those eyes would always appear to him just before sleep. And her lips . . .

A fusion of warmth on her part and desperation on his, that's what he would remember about her lips, her taste. His food for weeks after would taste like nothing and he wouldn't be able to eat because he longed for the soothing sweetness of her mouth. He would remember the salty tears that leaked from his eyes into the seams of his lips. He would taste their love, chaotic with worried confusion, sharp longing, and tender caring. Most of all he would remember the saltiness of a last moment; the way is it was bitter at first because it struck him unexpectedly and the way it melted into his mouth like a fond memory.

"No, Ewan," She whispered, her lips moving against his. "No tears, now. I want . . . to see your smiling face." Her strength was nearly gone. "Please . . . for me?"

He tried. He tried to smile for her. What he managed was something only slightly resembling a smile. His claret eyes bore into her silver-tinted blue ones. The light in those eyes was weak, almost gone, but it was shining. Shining brighter than it ever had.

"I can feel you, Ewan." She breathed. "I can feel you . . . smiling in my heart." The smallest, happiest smile he had ever seen bloomed on her lips. "Thank you, Ewan. I . . . love you. It's time . . . to say . . ." She grabbed a quick breath. "'goodbye.'"

The light in her glittering orbs slowly dimmed, taking her serene smile with it. Her eyes, which had been nearly closed, slipped shut. Ewan looked down into her face, his own smile still in place, and saw a tear land on her cheek. He cradled her body close, his heart neatly breaking inside his chest, the tears sliding silently down his cheeks. With her folded closely into his side, Ewan turned his teary gaze up to the heavens, the sparkling, shining, twinkling heavens. He made not a sound because the noise of his shattered heart falling inside his ribcage was enough. He watched the stars, wondering if he would see a new one appear somewhere up there. The cool of the night chilled the wet, slick places of his face, but he didn't wipe them away. The scent of crushed hope filled his senses.

He saw himself, years later. He was alone; so alone yet never alone. He was sitting upon the ground, lush with tall, soft grass. He was staring up at the night sky, staring up at the scattered crystallized tears. He felt old wounds open again, felt the ache in his chest heal just a little more, turning slowly into a scar. He saw himself, sitting there in the same place he laid now, remembering. Remembering and reminiscing. Remembering and reminiscing.

His eyes focused on one star that seemed to shine for him alone. "I love you, too. Goodbye."

Somewhere, he knew, an angel was crying.


	39. Discovering Lyssa

**A/N: **Hello, everyone. I apologize for the delay. I can't believe how fast the time has flown. It seems that once Thanksgiving hits, it doesn't slow down until after New Year's. I had some difficulty loading the document and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to post the new chapter today! Thankfully, I figured it out and presto--here's your chapter! I don't think I'll be writing any Concluding A/Ns; I believe they ruin the mood of the chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Y'know what the best part about reaching the end of a fanfic? Eventually, you won't have to write anymore disclaimers. I do not own Fire Emblem. Please don't sue; I don't have any money.

Enjoy!

* * *

**39) Discovering Lyssa**

Myrrh awoke with the dawn. Her ancient senses could discern the exact places where the morning light touched the earth, crawling across the hills to touch the camp. The Manakete drew in a deep breath, her fingers curling in her blanket. She blinked her eyes open and stared across the ground to the opposite side of her tent. She saw the dark brown tarp . . . and then she didn't. Her mind was racing along the dew covered ground, swerving around tents and zipping through the grass. The image of a huddled form in the tall, lush grass filled her mind. She paused there a moment, immersing herself in the sorrow that congealed in the air. She exhaled and was staring at the brown wall of her tent once again.

Myrrh pushed herself up and stretched out her gold and emerald wings. She folded her hands in her lap and hung her head, closing her large amethyst eyes for a moment.

She had felt it the moment it had happened. Myrrh had felt Kayll's death the very second the girl's spirit had fled the world. The sensation was similar to that of one emerging from a body of water after swimming for a period of time. The water carried the person, pillowing them, and making them feel several pounds lighter. However, once the person rose from the water, normal gravity returned and their steps grew heavy. Sensing someone's death was very much like that. A weight had settled on her chest, but only briefly. She felt the passing of Kayll's energies, touching the Manakete briefly before slipping off and away into a realm beyond life.

She had also felt the wrenching sorrow emitting from Ewan. It had been a terrible pain, so sharp and deep and Myrrh was forced to close off her senses to him. His sorrow was so much like the pain of Possession—something she had only faintly touched when Ewan had been subjected to it. For a moment, she had been positive that someone had scooped out her soul like one would when picking a palm-sized ice floe from the water during the last touches of winter. For a moment, she had been sure her soul had flickered from her body; she could only imagine what the full force of the pain felt like.

Her brief scry this dawn had revealed to her that Ewan hadn't had the will to move from his location; he was still out there curled up against his loved one.

The Manakete exhaled a small sigh and dressed quickly. She tied her deep violet hair on either side of her head in her usual style. She had so much to say; they deserved to know the truth of the happenings in the latest battle. She had to do something first, however. She emerged from her tent and made her way toward the infirmary. She felt many of the soldiers waking, their awareness lighting up like small candles in her mind. She felt Saleh, who had fallen into an exhausted slumber, was still sleeping in his hunched over position in a roughly hewn chair within the infirmary.

Sometimes this connection to the earth and all of its living inhabitants made her weary. So achingly weary. Sometimes, she didn't think she would be able to get up in the morning if she continued to be in touch with everything. Other times, it was rewarding. She never had to search long for anyone she sought. She sensed people's emotions and knew how to approach them. She would feel danger moments before it ever occurred. But, sometimes, it just made her so very tired. Today was one of those days, but Myrrh knew she had much to do and she wouldn't be selfish enough to withhold crucial information at a moment like this. This extra sense, this connection, was all apart of her role as the Guardian of Darkling Woods. It was only recently that she found her connection was in all things, not just the forest.

And so, she approached the sleeping Saleh with a heavy but determined heart. She paused before shaking his shoulder gently. He had fallen asleep with his torso draped over a cot—one that both Ewan and Kayll had previously occupied upon different occasions—while sitting in a decidedly uncomfortable seat. Someone, most likely Natasha, had draped a blanket over his bent form. Myrrh reached out with a small hand and gently shook him awake.

"Master Saleh," She said quietly. "Master Saleh, it's time for you to wake up. You are needed elsewhere."

The sage's eyes peeked open to reveal slightly bloodshot eyes. He looked up at Myrrh and seemed to force himself to sit up. Myrrh heard his spine crack and creak as he did so. Saleh found the blanket on his back and pulled it around to his rest on his lap. The ancient girl saw the bruise-like bags under his eyes when glanced up at her again.

"Lady Myrrh, what brings you here?" He asked with sleep-slurred voice.

Sadness filled her heart and Ewan's wane spirit appeared at the back of her mind for a moment. "Master Saleh, Ewan needs you."

The sage's whole face frowned, his brows furrowing, his mouth turning down at the corners, his eyes narrowing a little in his semi-conscious state. "Is he all right?" He mumbled out. Saleh made a visible effort to regain full awareness. "He's not . . . hurt, is he?"

Myrrh tugged the taller man to his feet, feeling a sad smile on her lips. "No, Master Saleh, he is not all right." She shook her head slightly. "I do not think he will be all right for a long time." She looked up at him. "Please find Tethys and walk out into the southern plain; you will find him there."

The exhausted man's eyes cleared when Myrrh spoke this time. Remnants of his frown lingered on his mouth, but concern lit his eyes. He nodded slowly and his mind turned to his worried thoughts.

The Great Dragon tugged on his hand. "Please hurry, Master Saleh. He needs you and Tethys at his side."

Saleh nodded again. "Yes, thank you, Lady Myrrh." With a swish of his robes, he exited the infirmary with determined steps.

Myrrh stood there for a moment longer, listening to the quiet breathing of the sleeping soldiers. She could feel the sage searching for Tethys with worry in his heart. Myrrh had wanted to tell him more, but she didn't think it was necessary. Saleh already suspected what had happened. The Manakete pressed her wings tightly into her back. The scene would be nothing short of heartbreaking. It was best that as few people as possible handled the situation. Right now, she had others things to deal with.

The Guardian of Darkling Woods walked quietly from the infirmary and strode towards the tent that held the slumbering mage knight. Standing outside of it, Myrrh discovered the hazy aura of a sleeping Artur as well. A miniscule smile appeared on the Manakete's lips for a moment. It was good to know that love could flourish even among disaster. With the consequential war of King Fomortiis's demise all but over, the ancient girl was confident that Artur and Lute would remain to be together.

"Lute! Mage Knight Lute! Awaken; I must speak with you!" Myrrh called softly. There was some rustling—the shifting of blankets—from within and traded mumbles. "Are you decent?" she called again, not wanting to walk in on anything . . . inappropriate. Not that they were the type of people to do anything improper in any sense of the word.

"Mm, yes, come in!" Lute called back through the tarp.

The Manakete ducked inside and looked around for a place to stand. Books, scrolls, and boxes (most likely more books) cluttered the tent. Myrrh couldn't remember packing all of this into the supply caravan . . .

"What is it that you need to speak to me about, Myrrh?" Lute asked from her position in the bedroll.

Myrrh finally found a spot to stand amongst all of the items. Her deep purple eyes slid over to the couple with some reluctance despite Lute's assurance of decency. She found nothing unsuitable. Lute and Artur were dressed down from their normal garb, each wearing a simple tunic. The purple haired Manakete assumed they were wearing trousers, but she couldn't be sure with the bedroll covering their legs. Their faces didn't reveal what might have been implied; they were both alert with clear gazes and unblemished skin, but happy nonetheless. Myrrh briefly wondered if Ewan and Kayll had ever looked like that—with pure love shining brightly in their eyes and hands clasped in a gentle, reassuring way.

Remembering why she came, Myrrh looked to Lute. "Something has happened. Mage Knight, I am deeply grieved to say that the Mage Kayll left the world late last night."

A stricken look overcame the prodigy's face. Her jaw slackened, her eyes widened, her eyebrows rose, and her hand clenched her lover's tightly. Artur, too, seemed affect, but not quite to the extent Lute was. Seeming at loss for words, she said nothing for several moments. Finally, after swallowing, she said, "Ewan must be devastated."

Myrrh nodded. "Yes, quite so. He took her outside so she could see the stars. He has not returned yet. I have sent Saleh and Tethys to bring him back." She expelled a small breath. "I need to speak with you about Kayll, about the truth of her power and existence. I feel you should hear this first because you knew her almost as well as Ewan and . . . I'm not sure if he would want to hear this."

Nodding slightly, Lute composed herself, a curious glint appearing in her eyes. "Kayll told me bits and pieces about herself while we were held captive by the fiends. But . . . I don't think I understand exactly what she said."

"I only recently discovered the truth." Myrrh admitted. "I was wrong about suspecting Zinneth of holding the shard of the Demon King's soul. Zinneth wasn't the host; Kayll was."

Lute and Artur traded a quick glance. "Kayll was the one who carried the Demon King's soul?" She echoed in a question of disbelief.

Myrrh nodded. "Yes. When the flames of ebony rose above the treetops, I followed the magic to its source. It was Kayll. There was no mistaking her magical signature." She let the two meditate on this for a moment, allowing the information to sink it. When it did, it only provoked questions.

Lute's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't understand. If she had all of that power at her disposal, why didn't she use it earlier? Why didn't she use it to escape Zinneth? She could have prevented Ewan's Possession!"

The Guardian of Darkling Woods drew in a deep breath. This would take some careful explaining. "To answer your question, I must go back more than eight hundred years. I must tell you the story of Nianna."

Lute's gaze sharpened upon recognition, but she said nothing.

"Hundreds of years ago, the land was overruled by demons; powerful, wicked demons. In all of the books, it is always said that King Fomortiis, the Demon King, was the most feared, the most powerful. Fomortiis may have been a twisted creature, but he knew of love. He met her during a civil disturbance among their kind and they say it was true love, the kind that brings soul mates together. This love, appropriately enough, ended the unsettlement. The union of their people automatically placed Fomortiis in a high position. King Fomortiis was a corrupt creature, so he murdered and fought his way to gain immense power. So potent was his magic that is tainted his very soul. This would later enable him to literally separate a piece of his soul from himself to give to another being. However, he didn't realize the strength of his power when it was cast upon others until much later.

"His position and power brought many battles and many wars. Fomortiis was unconcerned; he won every battle and every war with his endless power and infinite supply of soldiers. However, humans finally sought help from the heavens and five gifts were bestowed upon them."

"The Sacred Stones." Lute murmured.

Myrrh nodded. "Yes, the Sacred Stones. A war unlike any King Fomortiis had ever encountered occurred. He was powerless against the heavenly stones and he knew it. He feared for his queen and so gave her a portion of his soul. However, Nianna's body rejected the implanted soul shard and she grew weak, frail. Fomortiis ordered a band of demons to guard her at all times during the war. It was not enough. Fomortiis saw his love die before his eyes while he was helpless to save her, cornered by a troop of mage knights. Later that day, witnesses to the battle said a fury overcame the Demon King and he fought like a vengeful god with power never before experienced. All but a handful of human soldiers died. There were at least a few hundred out on the field in total."

"Gods," Lute swore softly, clenching Artur's hand.

Myrrh hummed sadly in agreement, as if feeling pity for the fiend. "Afterward, the humans that survived the battles said that it seemed the Demon King had half died. They reported that his will wasn't as strong and, for awhile, they had no trouble from him. Now, some scholars suspect that the Demon King was preparing his resurrection during those days. In any case, it was some time before he launched another attack—the final attack. On that day, the hero Grado and his companions destroyed King Fomortiis with hope that they would never see him again." The Manakete looked at the pair. "But, as we all know, that was not to be."

"I think I understand just a little more, now." Lute murmured absently, seeming to be lost in the story.

Artur agreed, "Yes, I do as well. Myrrh, if I may ask, how do you know all of this?"

The youthful ancient smiled mysteriously. "We Manakete have our ways."

The copper haired man returned a similar smile. "Which means you won't be telling us any time soon, right?"

"Precisely."

"But, what about Kayll?" Lute asked, returning them to the topic. "How does this relate to her?"

The sly smirk faded from the violet haired girl's face. "When King Fomortiis was resurrected, he swore to avenge the death of Nianna. He created an army nearly the same size as his previous one. He captured Grado and destroyed Renais. He summoned his forces from deep within Darkling Woods and scattered them across the continent. Kayll enters the story when one of Fomortiis's generals from the previous war, Zinneth, was assigned to raze a village and to slaughter every villager. Zinneth almost completed her mission. She was stopped, however, by a young girl who had an uncanny resemblance to the late Queen Nianna. The gorgon took the girl and brought her before Fomortiis. The Demon King truly believed that his queen had returned to him in the form of a human. He spared her life and again, presented a portion of his soul to the girl."

"Kayll," Lute said, knowing it could only be her.

Myrrh nodded sadly. "Yes, Kayll, as Ewan called her."

Artur's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Hold on. How can a human bear any resemblance to a demon? They're horrid, twisted creatures and we know Kayll could hardly be called ugly."

Again that mysterious smile curved her lips. "Eight hundred years ago, demons were abundant in breed and form. There used to be a breed of humanoid demons. They were only discerned from humans by skin color, which was usually an outlandish hue such as teal or emerald. The humanoid fiends were much like Kayll in the fact that they could work magic without a tome or other accessories. These demons, however, died out in the first war. The only reason why you did not see them in this war was the fact that Fomortiis could not find any residual substances or remains that he could use to recreate them."

"Oh. That's . . . interesting." Artur murmured.

"Indeed." Lute touched her lips in thought. "I must research them when I have the time."

She didn't see Artur roll his eyes.

"As I said before," Myrrh spoke, drawing their attention. "Fomortiis did not know what effects implanting a piece of his soul would take place upon the receiver. By burying the soul shard within Kayll, it . . . changed her, for lack of a better term. She became something akin to the humanoid demons that once lived nearly eight hundred years ago. Not exactly, mind, but close. She was able to use magic without help from an additional object. Kayll was treated like royalty, but as soon as the Demon King was dead, the situation flipped entirely. Zinneth, one of the few surviving demons, abused Kayll and her power, using it to reanimate the reserves Fomortiis had set aside for Kayll's protection."

Lute shook her head. "She told me that Zinneth Possessed her to break her spirit." A halfhearted, wry grin crossed her lips. "It didn't work."

"How do you know all of this, Myrrh?" Artur asked again, determined to find out. "Surely you can't have just known with what little observations you've shared with us."

Myrrh was silent for a moment, but relented knowing that they both deserved a thorough explanation. "The story of Nianna was told to me by my father. The Manakete people thought it best to share every bit of knowledge to the future generation; you never can tell what will happen. However, I know most of this information from Kayll's memories."

There was a moment of silence that quickly became tense. The Great Dragon saw the mage knight's violet eyes narrow and glanced down at the floor.

"So . . . you took a peek in Kayll's head and presto—you have every answer you need?" Lute's voice wavered with barely concealed anger. Myrrh could feel the stirring emotion struggle against the magic user's emotion restraints. The ancient girl witnessed a flash of a memory: it was dark and damp with dripping water and Kayll was speaking, a soft murmur that Myrrh couldn't decipher. Myrrh knew that her delve into Kayll's memory reminded Lute too much of the Possessions the twilight haired girl had to suffer through.

The Guardian of Darkling Woods inhaled and exhaled slowly. She had to handle this situation very carefully. "Yes, that's about right; although not done in the manner you have described it."

"It doesn't matter!" The mage knight burst out, her fury lashing the atmosphere like a whip of fire.

"Lute . . ." Artur's concern rose, touching the anger in the air gently, tentatively.

"What you did was just as bad as Zinneth's Possessing her!" The lavender haired magic user went on.

Myrrh toyed with the sleeve of her dress absently, focusing her gaze on a pile of books. She imagined that Lute's vibrant purple eyes snapping with ire. Another memory flash darted through her mind. It was a dimmed image of Kayll, her expression contorted into one of utmost sorrow and lingering bitterness.

The ancient girl let out a soft sigh. "On the contrary, Lute, I did her a favor."

"Oh, really?" Sharp sarcasm soured the air. "And just what might that be? I don't see how invading someone's mind does them any 'favors.'"

Myrrh looked up as Artur's concern multiplied tenfold. The magic user was just as she had imagined, bright eyes flashing with rage, hands fisted in the blanket, back rigid, with her face twisted into a snarl. Artur's brow furrowed with unease and he continually glanced between his love and the Manakete.

Said Manakete stared back at Lute calmly. "When Fomortiis announced that his queen had returned to him, no one quite believed him—especially when the 'queen' flinched away from him at his every move. Zinneth loved her king; it was apparent to nearly everyone but the king. She only wanted his happiness, so she locked Kayll's memories of her past life away. When the girl found she had no reason not to believe that the fiends were her friends, she tolerated Fomortiis. Kayll, however, knew somehow. Deep inside she knew she didn't belong. She knew the fiends had done something to her, but she couldn't figure out what exactly it was.

"When I visited Kayll's slumbering mind, I discovered the magical lock. It was powerful; the magic was woven into intricate patterns that only few could unravel. For me, it didn't take too much effort. Once the lock was gone, all of her memories of her true life were accessible. I admit it, I did glimpse them to better understand how Kayll became who she was."

Lute frowned. "I still do not see how this helped her."

Myrrh, for the first time since waking, smiled in genuine happiness. "I gave her back the life that had been barred from her. By undoing Zinneth's magic, I gave her the memories she had been searching fruitlessly for." The Manakete stepped closer and kneeled on the bedroll, taking Lute's curled hands in hers. "Oh, Lute, she was so happy. So very happy. She had a wonderful family who loved her. She had friends aplenty that would do anything for her." The blue-violet eyed girl felt tears running down her cheeks. "Before Kayll died, she remembered Lyssa. Kayll died knowing the truth, despite all of the lies Zinneth had told her. Could you think of a better outcome?"

While Myrrh spoke, a range of emotions had crossed Lute's face starting with surprise and ending with a flat, bitterness that masked her relief. "Yes, I could; one in which she lives." Sadness came forth in her expression. "It was cruel, the way she was taken away. She had a good life . . . as Lyssa. She was torn from it, forced into a twisted fate as Nianna. Then, as Kayll, she found love." The mage knight's voice shook on the last word. "But, again, she was taken from it." Her face tightened with despair. "Why? Why did Kayll have to die so soon after finding the happiness she was starved of?"

The Manakete slowly withdrew her hands, letting them fold in her lap. Myrrh's gaze traveled down to those hands, fisted in the material of her dress. "When Kayll released the power of the Demon King's soul, she weakened herself greatly. Her body was familiar with the power, subconsciously relying on it. When that support disappeared, her body became unstable, like a fish dragged from the water. Without the power, her body struggled to survive. It was useless, like a fish trying to endure without water." Myrrh shook her head sorrowfully. "Her body couldn't withstand the strain, so it slipped into a brief coma." The ancient girl glanced up again, holding the pair's eyes. "When I sensed her awaken, I sent Saleh to get Ewan. I knew she didn't have long for this world." Myrrh felt the tears pricking her eyes again. "She died in the arms of her love."

Lute's shoulders heaved with her scarcely controlled breathing. She abruptly turned to Artur, burying her face in the crook of his neck, flinging her arms around him. The copper haired sage held her wordlessly, providing her comfort with distant eyes. Myrrh watched the couple cling to each other and she felt their fears, heard the whispers of their minds.

_Why must life be so cruel to the unfortunate?_

_Gods, that could have been anyone. That could have been us. Oh, gods, that could have been us and so many more._

_She didn't deserve it . . . so why? Now that I understand her—light above, I was so malicious towards her. I was no better than that wretched snake. Gods . . ._

_Oh, Lute, it's okay. It's okay. There was nothing you could have done for her. At least she found love._

_Oh, Artur, it's so tragic. War is so tragic. All of these needless deaths . . . but at least she found love._

* * *

Saleh walked the plain with Tethys beside him. It was cool that morning with autumn closing quickly upon them, causing him to rub his hands to bring forth temporary warmth. He glanced at Tethys, wondering how the dancer could possibly be content with what little she wore. Then again, there were Myrrh's parting words to focus on rather than the temperature.

"_Please hurry, Master Saleh. He needs you and Tethys at his side."_

Frankly, the words sent chills rippling down his back. Sighing out a breath, Saleh scanned the horizon again. He could see nothing that hinted at Ewan's presence. Where was he? Saleh could only imagine what state of mind his former pupil was in. Myrrh had come to him late last night, telling him he needed to rouse Ewan immediately, that Kayll needed him. The Manakete had seemed uneasy and desperate. The ancient girl's tone of voice hinted at the fears Saleh held for the boy. The mountain sage worried for Ewan. How would he cope if the worst happened?

Saleh came to a halt. "Tethys,"

She stopped and looked over at him with worry-darkened eyes.

"We might come upon a . . . well, an unpleasant situation." he warned her. "We have to be strong for him."

The flame haired dancer nodded. "Let's continue. The sooner we find him, the sooner we can help."

The pair resumed their search in silence, willing Ewan to appear. They continued to walk out into the southern plains for what seemed like forever. The lengthening time in the morning air made it seem to grow colder; Saleh thought he saw his breath cloud before him on a few occasions. He wrapped his cloak around him a little tighter, but decided to give it to Tethys when he saw her rub her arms vigorously. Ewan's sister sent him an appreciative smile as she wrapped it around her bare shoulders.

"Where could he be?" She asked him. "He can't have gone too far."

He sighed. "No, I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

They walked through the suddenly tall grass, the individual blades whispering together. Then, not twenty yards away, they saw an indention in the lush green. Tethys and Saleh traded a glance, hope sparking in their eyes. Together, they ran, calling out his name. Once they were closer, they saw the truth of the forms hidden in the grass. Tethys stopped short with a gasp and Saleh's heart was gripped in an icy fist.

Ewan lied there in the grass, holding Kayll's body protectively, as if to shelter her from death itself.

"Ewan . . ." Tethys spilled to her knees, reaching out to touch her brother's shoulder. "Ewan? Wake up." The dancer shook him gently.

The boy's vermilion eyes opened slowly, lethargic and confused. "T-Tethys?" He blinked slowly. Ewan shifted and became aware of the cold form in his arms. His eyes widened and slid down to stare at the crown of Kayll's blue-violet hair. The magic user's breathing hitched, becoming rapid, and he swallowed repeatedly, blinking fast. Ewan held Kayll tight, burying his face in her hair. "Kayll . . ."

Chest aching, Saleh knelt on Ewan's other side, touching the boy's head.

His former student glanced up at him with empty claret pools for eyes. "Teacher . . ."

"Shh, it will be okay, I promise." The sage whispered. His heart twisted as he spoke the words. _How could I say such a thing to him? Nothing will ever be "okay" again. I shouldn't have said that._

As if hearing his thoughts, Ewan shook his head saying, "No, it won't."

Tethys glanced up at Saleh as if to demand, _Fix this; you're his Teacher, he respects you more than me._

The sage's eyes traveled over Kayll's ashen pale and bluish lips. The mauve orbs returned to hold the redhead's gaze and he withdrew his hand. "Come on, Ewan, let's go back to camp."

A conflicted expression passed over the boy's face. Ewan held the body tighter, unwilling to give her up. "But, Kayll—"

Saleh shook his head. "There's nothing more you can do for her, Ewan. I'm sorry." He reached to take the deceased girl, but paused when Ewan didn't relinquish his hold. "Ewan, it's time to let go."

Slowly, the young sage nodded, withdrawing his arms reluctantly. Instead of passing Kayll off to Saleh, Ewan placed her on the ground. Tethys helped her brother to his feet, wrapping her slender arms around his shoulders. "Leave her here," He whispered. "where the star appeared."

The older sage studied his former pupil's face carefully before nodding. Saleh glanced down at the dead girl and drew the blanket over her face, feeling it an appropriate thing to do. He rose to his feet and walked with the brother and sister back towards the camp. Ewan turned to look back, but Saleh stopped him, shaking his head.

"No, don't. It's best not to look back and regret. Instead, look ahead and cherish what you had."

The dull, claret eyes looked up at him, seeming to be too bright. Ewan leaned close to his sister and she draped part of Saleh's cloak over him. The trio walked on, silent and mournful. Somehow, the dawn sky seemed grayer, emptier. The cold autumn air wrapped around them, numbing the pain and sorrow, leaving only the grim reality of death present in their minds. Their silence seemed to make their thoughts twice as loud within their minds.

_What happened out here? I don't think Ewan will ever tell us. Or, at least, not me. I may be his sister, but it's plain to see that we don't have the bond that Saleh has with him. And yet . . . he clings to me now, trusting me to hold him steady. Does this mean he wants to be closer with his kin? I don't know, Ewan, but I promise you that I'll be a constant in your life instead of a variable like before. Family comes first; dancing can wait._

_Will things ever be "okay" for him again? Perhaps with time they might, but . . . to lose the love you've only touched briefly—"injustice" doesn't even begin to describe it. That girl may have made some wrong choices, but she didn't deserve to die before knowing how happy she could have been. A sweet ending to a bitter life—perhaps it was the only way. Maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe Ewan only came into her life so she could at least have a happy ending. But what has it done to Ewan? _

Both Tethys and Saleh were jerked from their thoughts when Ewan pushed away from his sister and fell to his hands and knees. He crumpled like a broken doll, without life or support. The action was so abrupt that neither of them knew what to do at first. Ewan huddled on the ground, fine tremors rippling across his body. Tethys looked to Saleh, unsure if her brother would be more comfortable with his Teacher or his sister. Wordlessly, Saleh went to his knees for the second time that morning and placed a careful hand on Ewan's trembling back. At the touch, the boy turned and threw himself desperately into his teacher's embrace. Tethys crouched as well and echoed Saleh in placing a soothing hand on her brother's head.

"Gone," Ewan whispered painfully, his voice coming out constricted through the tightness in his throat. "She's gone." He clenched his hands around the material of his teacher's tunic. "Couldn't save her."

Saleh methodically rubbed circles into the boy's back while Tethys smoothed back his crimson hair. "Oh, but Ewan, you did. You saved her." He murmured gently.

His pupil sniffed and looked up at him from the strange angle. "How?"

In that moment, Saleh was acutely aware of the fact Ewan was still a boy. Still just a young, vulnerable boy. A boy poisoned by war and death and despair too deep for anyone to handle alone. It made him sick at heart. Ewan had outwardly handled all of the horrors of war well. Saleh hadn't stopped to think that his pupil might be suffering on the inside, masking it by burying his fear and pain deep within. What is a teacher but a person who educates and protects? _I'm so sorry, Ewan. I didn't protect you._

"You loved her, Ewan." He murmured. "You gave her an unfailing friendship and you showed her love." Saleh smiled gently. "What more could you have done?"

Anger twisted his pupil's features before he ducked his head. "I could have stopped her from . . . from leaving." Ewan stated with such raw pain in his voice that Saleh knew that this had been eating at him. "I could have done _something_ to keep her here . . . alive."

The sage sighed softly. How was he supposed to open Ewan's eyes? There was simply nothing anyone could have done. Natasha was an expert healer; or, if something was wrong magically, Myrrh could have corrected it. "Ewan, you may not have prevented her death—" The boy flinched. "—but you _did_ save her. We all know how she was before; cold, arrogant, and spiteful. You changed her Ewan. You saved her heart from the darkness Zinneth had cast over her. Isn't that enough? You gave her hope, Ewan. You gave her something to strive for. She could have given up very easily. She could have returned to Zinneth's side, but she didn't. She didn't turn back to the darkness because you changed her for the better. You couldn't have done anything more for her, Ewan; you did all you could."

The boy's body quaked in his arms. "But . . ."

"No," Saleh said firmly. "No 'but's. I never want to hear you say you could have done something more, because you _couldn't _have. I know it's hard to accept, but that's the truth. If you're going to live your life regretting the time you had with her, than you might as well give up now—join her in death."

The dancer's eyes widened. "Saleh!"

Ewan was abruptly still, the words having struck him deeply.

"It sounds cruel—especially coming from me—but I don't want to see you waste away in regret and self-loathing. I'm sure your sister wouldn't be able to bear it, either." Saleh explained with an even tone. "Now, you have two choices: you can suffer through life with your needless 'what if's or you can treasure the moments you had with her. If you choose the former, know this: I will not stay to watch you fall to ruin."

The claret eyed boy was silent for several long moments. Tethys glanced at the older sage with a look of distress. _How could you say something so cold? _her eyes seemed to ask. Saleh silently begged for patience.

Ewan finally stirred, pulling out of the comforting embrace. He didn't meet Saleh's gaze. Instead, he stared down at his hands. The young magic user said nothing. The silence grew uncomfortable and tense. Saleh and Tethys traded another glance. _See what you've done? _her scarlet eyes demanded. Worry gnawed at his heart, causing Saleh to touch his pupil's shoulder. Ewan didn't respond, choosing to fist his hands in the cloth of his trousers.

"Ewan?"

The fists shook, the knuckles standing out white against the beige skin. Suddenly, Ewan stood and strode off toward camp, leaving the two people he trusted most behind.


	40. To Rejoice and to Despair

**A/N: **Um, hi. Please don't flame me about my absence. You have no idea how guilty I feel. I am such a hypocrite. I told myself I wasn't going to be the kind of writer who takes months to update. I, obviously, wasn't able to keep that promise. It's strange; I go through a kind of pseudo writer's depression once I reach the end of my story. You'd think I would be excited about concluding the fic, but I'm not, actually. It's as if all of my motiviation vanishes and it becomes an obligation to finish. So, to make up for my inexcusable absence, I present to you the longest chapter in BtLotF history with 7448 words. Also, as with many stories, the plots changes, making the summary invalid in many areas. With the new chapter comes a new summary. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Fire Emblem, do you think I would _lose all of my inspiration?_ No, I don't think so.

* * *

**40) To Rejoice and to Despair**

She knew the moment it had happened. The severing of the bond brought her out of the trance-like half-sleep her people used in substitution for the deeper sleep humans succumbed to. The connection between Zinneth and Nianna was gone. Since the moment Nianna had unleashed the implanted power of King Fomortiis, the gorgon had felt that bond weaken, fade. After hours of waiting, something had happened: the tie between fiend and human had finally vanished.

Nianna was dead.

Zinneth reared up from the broken stone floor of the Black Temple and let loose a piercing shriek. It was an unearthly sound, like needles scratching the surface of glass. The scream jerked Drengar and Thalos from their half-slumber. Empty eye sockets and wide, crimson eyes sought out the gorgon. Zinneth was nearly bent backwards in the intensity of some strange grief that pulled her in like a black hole. In the subsidence of her audible sorrow, rocks in the ruined walls of the temple shifted and collapsed to the floor. Thalos could still feel the scream ringing in his ancient bones long after.

Then, quite calmly, Zinneth turned to them from her place in the center of the room and said, "Lament for your queen is dead."

Drengar's eyes flicked to Thalos as if to trade a glance, but he couldn't tell if the draco zombie returned his look. "Zinneth," He said firmly with audible exasperation. "Nianna was never our queen. Hush your lies for they will serve you no purpose now."

Zinneth's tail lashed in agitation. "Then grieve for your king." Her blood-red eyes narrowed. "It is why we have returned to this place, is it not? Here is where they slain him." She gestured with her useless right arm to the place where she was standing. "At least, show him respect."

Thalos rested his rotted body onto the floor amongst the uprooted shards of stone. "Zinneth, what, pray tell, is your plan?" He asked with weariness in his voice. "Are we to hide away in hopes that the humans will not find us?" The draco zombie shook his great skeletal head. "I am tired of this game, Zinneth. We might as well go to the humans rather than wait for them."

The gorgon's body tensed and her serpent locks writhed, hissing softly. "No!" She spat. "Our king and queen may be dead, but we shall fight on in their name. We will not surrender!"

If the reanimated corpse could, Drengar was positive Thalos would have glared at the gorgon. "Face reality, Zinneth: there is no hope for us. We should have stayed and fought on with our brethren. We should not have fled from the battle. Do you not see where it has led us? We are wounded, cornered and outnumbered. We will not walk away from the next fight." The Head of the Council said, reminding Drengar why the draco zombie had been chosen for the position. The voice, hollow and exhausted, rang throughout the dilapidated temple.

Zinneth said nothing for a moment. She simply stared him down with an unflinching gaze, her disgust evident in the silent snarl she wore on her mouth. "You are weak. Pathetic. King Fomortiis would have killed you for becoming like this. You have no passion, nothing to live for because you no longer care what becomes of you. You are sickening."

Seeming to be undisturbed, Thalos continued in the same flat tone. "No, Zinneth, it is you who are weak. It is you who are pathetic and sickening. You have let revenge corrupt your mind. Your jealousy of the true Queen Nianna devoured whatever served as your heart. Your sorrow is what made you weak for you fell to your anger and thirst for blood to exact revenge. It drove you to this desperate state of madness." Again, he shook his head, but in disgust this time. "It is this desperation, this deliberate ignorance of reality, which makes you revolting. It is you who King Fomortiis would have killed." Thalos rose to his feet. "I was fool enough to follow you, but no longer. My time has long since been due and I am ready to pay in full."

"Coward!" Zinneth hissed as the draco zombie general moved toward the crumbling entrance. "You are a spineless coward, Thalos! No self-respecting demon would give in to the humans!"

Thalos paused at the broken entrance, which was twice the size than it had been originally due to forced entry. "This is no longer about pride, Zinneth. I hope you realize that soon." With that said, the draco zombie lumbered through the entryway and disappeared from sight.

For several minutes afterward, Zinneth screamed and tore at the crumbling walls until her hand bled and her whole back end ached from slamming her tail into the stone. She screeched until her voice left her. Drengar watched dispassionately with an apathetic expression. He did not care if the gorgon destroyed herself nor did he care if Zinneth fought the humans in an impossible battle. Rather, he cared more about what would become of him, as any fiend would. Thalos had decided on suicide, Zinneth on . . . well, self-mutilation. What was he to do now? He agreed that fighting would be pointless, but he didn't like the thought of throwing himself before the humans' mercy . . . and self-inflicted wounds weren't too appealing, either.

The maelduin turned and walked deeper into the Black Temple, seeking out a room where Zinneth's hoarse cries wouldn't reach him. His crimson eyes roamed the archaic artwork left hundreds of years ago by his people who once thrived in Darkling Woods. Now, however, there were only three left . . . soon to be two and, eventually, none. King Fomortiis had been dead for good bit of time and now that there wasn't even a bit of his power left, the three followers would eventually die whether or not the humans interfered. Without Fomortiis' magic, there was no way possible for them to survive in a land that had been cleansed of Dark magic for hundreds of years.

Perhaps if they captured a few mages that specialized in Dark magic they could . . . No, Drengar doubted that they would be able to leave the Woods alive, much less travel to a city that allowed Dark magic.

Drengar sighed, leaning against a stone wall that seemed strong enough to hold him.

Every decision led to death, so it was only a matter of choosing how he would die. Interesting . . . He had never faced such a situation and it intrigued him for a moment. He could choose to be like Thalos and take the gallant path to death. To die in order to join his King in the afterlife (if there was one for demons) was a noble cause. Taking his life by his own hands was a coward's way, but to stand before your enemy with a smile was . . . valiant, the fearless way of the martyr. To follow Zinneth in her mad demise was foolish in every sense of the word.

Drengar was positive that Zinneth's mind and logic had deteriorated in the blast. Her insanity was apparent in the action of killing two powerful generals and, now, punishing herself with her own hands . . . hand. It was a shame that she couldn't use her right arm. Her death would be so much swifter if she drove a Shadowshot through her skull. He wondered if Zinneth would really try to attack the humans again. She would accomplish nothing, but perhaps she would feel satisfied that she had died fighting a useless struggle.

The maelduin stood upright and turned about in a circle, his eyes sweeping over the large room without really seeing anything.

It still left him without an answer. Was he supposed to "fall" on his axe? Cowardice. Would he follow Thalos and stand before the humans? No, he didn't have the nerve to stay still. Would he succumb to a fit of madness and beat his head against the stone until he died? Distasteful and much too painful. Or would he wait for the magical starvation to take him? No, he didn't have the patience or the tolerance for a slow death.

He sighed and realized, after the sound of his exhale had melted into the silence, that it was too quiet. He left the room, his hooves creating a "_clop, clop_" sound on the stone. Straining his ears, Drengar couldn't hear any noise beyond the ones he made. He entered the main room, where Fomortiis had fallen and where Zinneth had lost her senses. His eyes scanned the room and found Zinneth lying in a heap in the corner. There was more debris on the floor than there had been when he left. In some places, the dawn light spilled into the room.

The maelduin approached the still gorgon warily. He wasn't sure what frame of mind Zinneth was in and he didn't want to encounter a foul one. His nostrils flared and he snorted at the scent of pungent, fetid blood. It was the fresh scent of spilt demonic blood—and a lot of it. Zinneth had no doubt opened the wounds on her right side and right arm, along with creating more injuries herself. Her tail lied at odd, sharp angles and, while Drengar knew it to be amazingly flexible, it was probably broken in more than one place. The serpentine locks of her "hair" were limp, like dead worms. Her arms were sprawled, like she had thrown herself to the floor. The right one leaked black blood and the scent of infection stung Drengar's nose. It was odd that infection had set in when, really, the fiends were reanimated corpses.

_It is the bond, _He thought. _The bond Zinneth had with that human made her more "alive" than the rest of us. As long as the girl was hale, Zinneth was fine. But now that she is dead, Zinneth will suffer. Zinneth is trying to return to her state of "deadness," so infection makes sense as it is aiding the process._ Drengar tossed his head. _Never again will I meddle with humans and magic; it is too confusing for me._

In some places, her body was bare of scales to reveal soft, darkened meat and shattered bone. Zinneth's blood-red eyes were closed and her face was splashed with her own blood. The black substance oozed from the gashes on her head, flowing freely from a few severed snaky locks. A careless meeting with a stone wall had laid open her left cheek deep enough for him to glimpse her folded serpent fangs and the few human-like molars in her mouth. Her abdomen was a mess of broken scales and strips of flesh, along with the occasional organ visible from behind a thin membranous film. Her chest was in the same condition, broken and sliced. Her feminine tissues were, at best, pulpy mounds with deep grooves scoring the flesh. The cause of the furrows across her body was her venom-secreting nails, which were uneven and darkened by the dried ebony blood. Overall, Zinneth looked and stank of a fresh kill.

The question, "was she really dead?" was answered moments later. All it took was one whispered "Zinneth" to set things into motion.

The gorgon reared up like a limp puppet yanked up onto its feet by its master. The broken tail coiled around the middle of Drengar's horse half. Zinneth buried her nails into his chest to lift herself further, a primeval mountain climber on a living cliff face. Her useless arm draped over the maelduin's shoulder. The gorgon's bloody eyes were shining with a sadistic light. A twisted grin contorted her mouth, bearing her serpentine fangs. Her locks sprang forward, suddenly alive and wriggling.

It had happened too suddenly for Drengar to react. He was trapped in the gorgon's grasp, frozen by the hypnotic crimson eyes.

"Drengar," Zinneth whispered with a voice strained by fervent want. "So loyal, so faithful."

The maelduin's mind dimly warned him that nothing good could come of this. However, the serpent's gaze was something not many people could turn away from, especially when it teased the maelduin's natural, insatiable lust for all things. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was under an illusion the gorgon was casting, but he didn't care. His hind legs trembled and he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. He didn't notice when Zinneth withdrew her deadly nails long enough to unbuckle the worn sheath that carried his axe from his humanoid waist. The weapon fell to the stone with a sharp clang of metal on stone, but Drengar didn't hear it. He was watching Zinneth.

The gorgon carved symbols into his flesh with her wicked nails. She toyed with his blood-red hair and drew a line across his cheekbone, leaving a trail of blood behind. Drengar didn't feel the pain of his sliced skin, nor did he acknowledge the poison thrumming through his bloodstream. His arms came up to support Zinneth, instead of flinging her away as a small portion of his brain told him to do.

"Drengar," Zinneth said again with a husky voice. "So stupid, so predictable."

Her muscled tail squeezed his middle, splintering his ribs, and he gasped at the beautiful pain he finally felt. Delirious, he could only stand still, mistaking the heat of poison for the warmth of pleasure.

Zinneth chuckled throatily, but at what he couldn't be sure. "So naïve even though you have seen so much."

She lowered her head closer to his. He faintly felt the pinpricks of her snake-headed hair dig their needle-thin fangs into the flesh of his throat, collarbones, and shoulders. It felt like dozens of hot tingles, painful kisses on his skin.

"Drengar," She whispered softly against the soft flesh of his throat. "You have something I want and I am going to take it."

He didn't feel it at first, but then it hit him like the gushing water of a broken dam. A deep, searing pain that began at his throat swept through his body, hot and pulsing, but with the strange sensation of suction. His legs collapsed immediately and his mind was thrown into a churning sea of agony. His arms fell away from Zinneth and she unknowingly wrapped a tighter grip around him, a possessive python. Drengar went through unconscious spasms that faded as he grew peculiarly weak. He knew passion and he knew pain. The two mingled together and melded into a single sensation. His open fell open, but he didn't know whether he should scream or moan. His vision became dark and fuzzy, as if things were out of focus.

_Death by a sadistic, deranged gorgon with a penchant for the taste of blood of her victim, _a cynical, albeit fading, part of his mind spoke. _That is a new one._

The blackness on the edges of his vision spilled over to rob all sensation from him. The last of his awareness left with the arrival of the darkness.

* * *

Zinneth swallowed the last drop of the Dark magic-filled blood. She slowly slid her fangs from the bruised skin of Drengar's throat. She pulled herself away from his disintegrating body, feeling gorged. She bid the vanishing corpse of the maelduin a silent farewell, still riding the high of obtaining fresh fiendish energies. She lied half curled on the stone floor, slightly dizzy from the absorption of Dark magic into her body. Zinneth could feel her body repairing itself, creating new layers of flesh, sealing weeping gashes and realigning bone. She forced a halt on the complete restoration of her damaged body; she wouldn't have power to attack with if she allowed the magic to wholly heal her wounds. 

The gorgon's body thrummed with the new power. She could feel it pooling into her right arm, mending it enough to allow her a couple rounds of Shadowshot. She consumed and stored all the magic she had received, but Zinneth still felt . . . bloated, huge and too full. The gorgon crawled onto her stomach and levered herself up onto her hands. She regurgitated the stale blood in a flood of shining ebony waves. The dark fluid swept across the stone floor, staining and seeping into crevices and cracks. Zinneth gasped when she finished, spitting out a mouthful every now and then. The aftertaste was horrible, musty with a metallic tang. But she felt _so _much better.

Zinneth rose, her serpentine locks hissing softly with pleasure. Her blood-red gaze traveled to the gaping holes in the ceiling and she laughed. It was a crazed, maniac sound that matched her state of mind. Shoulders heaving, mouth and eyes wide and round, she laughed until her sides ached from the continuous action.

She was ready to take on the humans.

* * *

"You were out of line, Saleh." 

The sage stopped and looked back at Tethys. Her arms were folded over her chest and a scowl marred her delicate features. "I know." He replied quietly.

Her gaze hardened. "Do you really?"

After Ewan had walked away, the two were left standing in a stunned silence that mocked Saleh, throwing his words back at him. It was in that silence that he understood the extent of his words. It left him shameful and guilty. Ewan wasn't out of sight, but he was out of earshot. It was why Tethys had decided to unleash her wrath then.

Saleh couldn't quite meet her eyes. "I had only hoped to keep the grief from engulfing him. I don't want to see him become a soulless husk."

"Are you implying that you care about him?" She demanded with a steely tone. "From where I'm standing, it looks as though you don't care a whit about him."

"No, that's not it at all!" Saleh exclaimed. "I don't want to see him hurting. He is the son I never had; I would never wish such grief upon him."

Tethys strode forward with anger tightening her body. "So you force him to bury his sorrow?! How can you do that to him and still say you care? If anything, you have done the opposite of your intentions! If you care about him so, then let him grieve!"

"I fear if he touches that depth of despair, he will never rise from it." Saleh told her with a mostly composed tone.

The dancer's hands flew to her hips. "Better to let him know his sadness than allow him to lock it away. A day will come, Saleh, when that black emotion will swallow him. It will be like the dog that is chained day after day without freedom; when he finally breaks from the chain, he will run rampant in the streets and not return home. Is that what you wish for him? For his sorrow to overcome him when he can no longer keep it under control?" Tethys' face was set with partial disgust and partial fury. Her vibrant burgundy eyes were like twin fires burning into his gaze. Barely contained was her anger.

Saleh's brows drew together. "Did you not hear me? I said I would never wish misfortune of any kind upon him! I care about him, all right? Haven't we stressed that point to the extremes?"

Tethys shook her head, her long red braid lashing wildly behind her. There was a twisted smile on her face, as if the whole situation was laughable. "No, Saleh, you don't. Ilove my brother. I did everything I could for him when we were orphans living off the streets. I danced my feet bloody for him, so he could have food in his belly and a place to sleep at night. I dried his tears when he wept for a better life—a life I promised I would give him. I held him when he had nightmares. I bandaged his wounds when he lost a fight to the other street boys."

She poked his chest with her index finger. "You taught him a few tricks with magic. You put silly dreams in his head about winning the war, no sweat." The dancer crossed her arms again. "Now tell me you care about him."

Saleh looked at her with strained patience. "Tethys, you were absent from Ewan's life for quite a few years to pursue your dancing career. As soon as the war was over, you left with Gerik, leaving Ewan with me."

Her eyes flashed. "He _chose_ to stay with you. Who was I to take him away from his beloved Teacher?"

"Since that absence," he continued. "Several things have happened. You might be aware of the death threats from the fiends. Ewan went missing when he left to search for you. I was sick with worry. He returned with Kayll and I didn't let him out of my sight for awhile. Recently, when he was Possessed, you saw my fear. It was equal to your own. I don't know how you can say that I am lying about my love for that boy."

She looked away with a smirk on her face, acting as though his attempts at honesty were pathetic enough to be amusing. "And yet you tell him that you won't stay to watch him fall. You, Saleh of Caer Pelyn, are a coward and a liar. If you truly care about someone, wouldn't you stay with them through everything?" Tethys raised her eyes to his. "Stay away from my brother, Saleh. I don't want to see you near him. If I do, well, you don't make friends with mercenaries without a reason, right?"

The smile she gave him was cattish and laced with venom, but her eyes were pieces of red flint. Saleh would stay away from Ewan or he _would_ regret it. As she walked away, Saleh sensed a dull pain in the center of his chest. Try as he might, he couldn't identify the ache. He realized that what he had said to Ewan might have been harsh, but he only had Ewan's best interests in mind.

_No,_ a voice said. _It was too soon. You pushed too soon, too fast. You've pushed Ewan away._

* * *

Lute was sitting with Forde and Vanessa, eating a tasteless meal. It was still early in the morning. The sky was a smooth expanse of gray cloud cover, bland and disheartening. She brooded over the recent events, thinking about how what had happened to Ewan and Kayll could have easily happened to anyone else. Colm and Neimi. Kyle and Syrene. Forde and Vanessa. Artur and herself. 

She glanced over at the cavalier and pegasus knight. They were conversing quietly in soft tones, the voice of a content couple. News of Kayll's death hadn't gotten out yet. Almost everyone was blissfully ignorant, living in the dregs of a nightmare about to give way to a beautiful dream. The latest war was nearly over. At best, there were only a handful of generals to take care of. Then, as they were doing before the messages from the fiends started, they would be on their way home.

Home. The word brought a surge of nostalgia and joy all at once, lifting her heart before it crashed back to earth with a piercing arrow of melancholy.

Kayll wouldn't be going home. She most likely never had a home during her time as Nianna. Lyssa, that happy girl, was gone, now just a memory belonging to a cold body. Everyone but the person who deserved it most would be going home.

Lute set her plate aside, no longer hungry. She hadn't expected to be so affected. She hadn't expected to hurt for both Ewan and Kayll. Wasn't it just some time ago that Kayll had created a rift between her and Artur? Wasn't it just a little while ago that Lute had hated the girl with clashing eyes and hair? Now, Lute was actually aching for the fiends' captive.

Abruptly, the mage knight stood. Without really comprehending her surroundings, Lute walked back to Artur's tent. She stepped inside and found that the monk at heart had left while she was eating. Slightly disappointed, Lute sat down on the bedroll and hugged his pillow to her chest. She buried her face into the soft fabric and breathed in his scent of old books. It was a familiar smell, one from the temple. While slightly musty, it was also fresh like leather and ink with an underlying scent of soap. He was also fastidious about being clean. It was another "monk thing" as she called his strange obsessions. Hugging Artur's pillow was slightly comforting, but not at all satisfying. She closed her eyes and pretended it was the copper haired, tawny eyed man she was holding.

What if the roles as been switched? What if it was Lute who had lost Artur? Or Artur who had lost her?

Like Ewan and Kayll, they were just discovering their love. She was secure in their relationship, but it hadn't built up to anything serious. A few kisses here or there. A long, warm embrace that lasted, in all actuality, a fraction of a minute. And, just recently, a bedroll shared in sleep. Nothing else, just sleep. She wasn't quite ready for that kind of devotion; she would be the one offering up herself and _that_ just didn't sit well with the proud, independent prodigy. And if Lute wasn't ready, Artur _definitely_ wasn't prepared for something so intimate. He was a monk by blood if not by station. Monks did not participate in such a thing. Supposedly it degraded their purity or some other such nonsense. Besides, Artur was a blushing virgin by nature. In all honesty, Lute could be content with that they had for awhile. Eventually, a time would come for physical passion, but not now.

If one of them had died, however, there would never be a chance for further development. The thought of losing everything—his smile, his touch, his presence—chilled her to the bone. She didn't want to lose a future with him, not when it had only begun. Lute realized that these fears were a bit late considering the situation. The war was almost over, why worry now? She should be rejoicing that their job was nearly done. After they arrived home, she could look into a career for assisting the kingdom with breakthroughs in the magical field. She could think about marriage and family. Those two words sent warm tingles rushing through her veins.

She just had to get through the last leg of the race, where everything that could go wrong almost always did go wrong.

"Lute?"

Her lavender eyes snapped open and looked up at Artur standing in the entrance of his tent, the flap partially opened. "Artur, hello there." Lute realized that she was still hugging his pillow, her face half pressed into it. She quickly set the pillow aside, heat rising in her cheeks. If the scene he walked in on didn't say "desperate and lonely," she wasn't sure what did. She didn't want to be viewed as that.

"Lute," His left brow arched. "What . . . are you doing?"

The blush she knew was coloring her cheeks grew. "I was . . . thinking."

"What about?" Artur asked, moving to sit beside her.

She sighed and leaned against his shoulder. "Just . . . things."

"Things." Artur echoed as if it held a deeper meaning. He looked over at her with a calculating stare. "Lack of response means worrying over something of importance in Lute Code."

A smile curved her lips. "'Lute Code?' When did this come about?" She asked with a laugh her in voice.

"Well," He mirrored her with a smile. "Since you're such a complicated person, I had to take notes. Right now, they're paying off. So, what were you troubling yourself over?"

"It's nothing."

"Avoiding a question translates into a fear of being embarrassed about the topic of concern."

Lute sat up to give Artur an annoyed look. "Stop that. _I'm _the one with the Monk Watching Habit. Find another hobby."

"You're still avoiding the question." He reminded with a playful tone.

The mage knight looked down at her hands with a reluctant sigh. "I'm worried. Of all times, now is the first I've been this worried. What happened to Ewan and—and Kayll could have happened to any of us. _To_ us. I don't want to lose you, not after all that we went through to get this far."

Artur was silent a moment and Lute took comfort in that moment of soothing peace. "Lute, tell me, what would you like to do afterwards?"

She knew what he meant. What would she do after this strange repercussion of the Demon King's demise was settled? "I want . . . to study the Trinity of Magic. I want to be with the man I love. I want to see peace reign over this land again." Lute tilted her head to look up at him. "What to you want, Artur?"

His smile was tender, affectionate to a barely tolerable level. "I want a family, most of all." His eyes seemed to radiate a light of their own as he turn his body to face her, holding both her hands in his. "But, first, I need your word that you will marry me when we return to Renais."

The breath left her lungs and her heart stilled a beat before racing like never before. Her hands unconsciously gripped Artur's in a bruising hold. Her innards twisted themselves into knots. Her mind replayed the words in her head like a mantra.

"—_marry me—"_

Marriage? She had thought that word to be spoken years from now, never in this moment. Marriage—she could stand at his side for as long as she lived with just one word. Marriage was something only those who truly loved each other took part in. Hadn't he spoken of family as well? While marriage vows would keep them together through love, a family would be the ultimate expression of devotion. Children. Children with his eyes and her face—what a thought!

_Slow down, Lute. He wants a "yes," first._

Marriage—was it so frightening a thought? What changed other than an official documentation of their love? Was she afraid of tying herself to him for the rest of her life? No. No, she wasn't.

"Artur, how can you ask me such a question?"

He blinked, visibly taken aback. "Lute . . . ? What are you—"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "How can you ask me such a question, as if you don't already know the answer?"

"Well . . ."

She silenced his stuttering by placing her lips over his. Lute smiled against the soft flesh, withdrawing enough to touch his nose with hers. "Artur, of course I will marry you."

His reply was his mouth blanketing hers and a small, whispered "thank you."

* * *

Seth, ever the dutiful general, was tediously reading over the reports. The Reports—it was what every expense, record, and message had been classified as. There was simply no use separating the masses of paperwork. How much food was left in the supply wagon? Did they have enough tools to repair all damages, physical or material? Who was still injured or ill? Who was on patrol? What was sighted, if anything? Was the morale adequate? How much did they owe to the whole of Magvel for everything they had bought, used, borrowed, and possibly stolen (where some people are concerned)? 

Those answers and more were somewhere in the pile of paperwork that dominated Seth's tent. He had been hoping to get a head start on the headache that would plague him for months, perhaps years, afterward. Of course, the nobles would share it with him in due time. For how, it was his pain to bear. It was his job to sort through the records and give those of most importance to his king. The changing of the patrol had occurred nearly an hour or so, leaving him to the silence of his tent for about another quarter of an hour. Seth would look through some of the patrol reports and then, he decided, he would walk through the camp. It would do the soldiers some good to see him out and about and among the weary.

But, gods, did his eyes burn! He hadn't had a decent sleep in months what with the fall of Fomortiis and the rise of his fiends. His very bones ached with weariness. Perhaps he should take a rain check on the walk through camp. He'd probably scare the soldiers rather than uplift them with they way he was sure he looked. His auburn hair was unkempt from raking his fingers through it repeatedly. An inch's worth of stubble coated his face and the bags under his eyes most likely made him look like an old man. Did he have gray hair? He wouldn't be surprised if he did, even at such a young age. Seth was positive he would look much like Riev, the Bloody Beryl of Grado, by the time things were through.

Seth honestly wasn't sure how he made his reports to his king in such a state. It was horrendously embarrassing, looking like a vagabond in front of his superiors. He rubbed his cheek, hearing the rasp of the whiskers against his calloused hand. Tonight he was going to shave, fiend generals or no.

"Seth?"

The general suppressed a groan. Of all people he didn't want to see him as he was, it had to be Princess Eirika at his door.

The princess, looking exceptionally clean, entered his tent with a glance thrown over her shoulder. "If Innes comes by, I'm not here, all right?"

"Princess, is everything all right?" He asked with a level of concern that wouldn't betray his position.

She glanced over at him with her bright, sapphire eyes. "What? Yes, of course. Everything is fine." Eirika glanced around his tent and chose to stand on the other side of a stack of boxes filled with provisions he had yet to look over. Anyone entering the tent wouldn't see her where she was standing.

"Princess Eirika—"

"Oh, please, Seth. When we are alone, at least call me by my given name. You know I hate it when you're so formal all the time." She sent him a gentle smile to show she meant nothing harsh by her words.

He expelled a sigh. "Very well. Pr—Eirika, are you . . . hiding?" A single red-brown eyebrow rose with the question.

Eirika sat on a crate beside the stack, laughing softly. "I can't keep anything from you, can I?"

Her good nature was infectious; Seth found his mouth curving into a slight smile. "No, I suppose you cannot." His brows drew together slightly. "Eirika, if everything is, as you say, fine, why are you hiding? And from Innes, no less?"

A hint of aggravation showed through in her expression with the barely perceptible narrowing of her eyes. "That man may be the single most stubborn creature I have ever come across. He found out that I'm next for patrol, so he's determined to find a way to follow after me. Ever since this war seemed to be turning towards its climax, he's become more and more absurdly protective." Her annoyance was now quite visible by her frown and puckered brows. "I am smothered already by two men in particular whose protective streaks are very pronounced. I do not need another man who feels compelled to look after me."

"It is very easy to be protective about you, Eirika." Seth replied, his mouth moving up into a small curve of a smile.

She looked over at him and mirrored his smile, though hers was more disappointed than gentle. "It seems my brother has not yet realized that I am no longer his bumbling, little sister. I was perfectly all right when he wasn't there on the battlefield with me. I don't understand why he thinks he needs to be there every moment of my life."

Seth averted his gaze, somehow unable to look at his princess as he spoke. "He loves you very much, Eirika. He wouldn't allow you to be harmed."

Eirika sighed and stood. "Yes, I know that. Well, I'd best be off for the shift in patrol. Hopefully, I can dodge around Innes." She walked to the entrance of the tent, pushing back the tarp with one hand.

The paladin stood quickly, following after her. "Eirika, if I may, I would join you on patrol. It would ease Innes' worries and you would not have to put up with him."

Her smile was genuine and brilliant. "Thank you, Seth. I would like that very much."

He escorted her to the edge of camp where the patrol would come in and the next shift would go out. Waiting with Eirika and Seth was Lute. Seth noted that the mage knight was uncharacteristically unfocused. There seemed to be a permanent, almost dreamy, smile on her face. Her eyes were clouded, as if her mind was far away. She didn't acknowledge their approach. Eirika, too, seemed to notice the drastic change in otherwise driven demeanor. However, they didn't comment.

After a few minutes of waiting, Colm, Neimi, and Ross approached camp . . . with two extra people.

Eirika's brows drew together in concern. "Ewan?" She glanced from the listless boy to Colm. "What has happened?"

Colm rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not too sure, actually. We found him out there walking around in a daze with Tethys. Neimi managed to convince them to come back to camp with us. He hasn't spoken a word and Tethys won't tell us a thing."

Seth's brown eyes were narrowed and his voice was firm when he spoke. "Tethys, would you like to explain?"

The dance looked up at him with a fiery look in her crimson eyes. "If you see Saleh, you would do well to lock him away in a dungeon." The arm that rested about her brother's shoulders tightened its hold. "We don't want to ever see his face again." Her face wrinkled with a snarl. "May the gods damn him." She moved to walk away with Ewan.

"Tethys, hold." Seth commanded. "You may not technically be a part of the Renais Army as you are a member of Gerik's Mercenaries, but you will answer me respectfully and honestly when I ask something of you. Now, what happened out there?"

Anger flushed her face. "Kayll is dead." She said shortly without prelude. Silence followed the statement. The blissful aura that had surrounded Lute vanished. "Ewan took her out on the plains for her final breaths. Saleh and I went to find him this morning and now the damned sage won't stand beside Ewan in his time of grief. The coward would rather leave than see his precious 'son' grieve for his love. Let the fiends have at him. _I_ certainly wouldn't care either way what dreadful fate falls upon him."

Seth and Eirika traded glances. Lute was rigid in her saddle, her face pale. Neimi clutched at Colm and Ross passed his axe from hand to hand, clearly uncomfortable. Tethys didn't wait for a response and moved to stalk away, but Ewan stood rock still.

"Ewan?"

The boy looked up with mournful red eyes. "Please, don't say that about Teacher." His voice was but a rasp, quiet and weak.

Tethys balled her hands into fists. "Ewan, don't support him; he cares too much about his own guilty conscience to stick around for you. Don't you dare defend him."

He ducked his head, abashed but determined. "H—he didn't mean it like it sounded." Ewan murmured, his hands grasping at the hem of his tunic.

His sister crossed her bracelet covered arms. "Then how _did_ he mean it?"

"He just doesn't want to see me hurt."

"What about me, Ewan?! I don't want to see you hurt, either, but at least _I_ don't abandon you in your time of need."

"He doesn't know how to . . . how to handle sorrow that's not his own."

"That is why—"

"Quiet! Both of you!" Seth barked. He waited for silence and attention before speaking. "It seems to me that there has been a good deal of miscommunication. Tethys, don't condemn Saleh just yet. Allow him to see Ewan if he wishes. Ewan," His brown eyes traveled to the despondent gaze of the boy. "Ewan, where is Kayll resting now?"

"Not far," He whispered. "On the southern plain."

Seth nodded. "Thank you. I will arrange for something to be done. Perhaps L'Arachel will bless Kayll's spirit at a proper burial ceremony. For now, go rest. Take all the time you need, there is no rush."

Ewan bobbed his head in a shallow nod. "Thank you, General Seth." He walked away with Tethys close behind him.

Seth dismissed the arriving group and thought for a moment about the death. It was a terrible thing, but he couldn't empathize. Death . . . was a common thing in war and he was a general responsible for his army. He couldn't weep over every fatality, though he wanted to. Seth didn't know the contrasting girl well, but he knew she was . . . cheeky enough to insult his king in colorful ways. The girl's life was too tangled up in fiendish affairs for Seth to truly forgive her for the trouble she caused. Her death, however, grieved many and that he could not completely ignore.

"Such a sad thing, isn't Seth?" Eirika said softly. "To lose the one you loved, even if for a short time." She gave a shallow sigh and glanced over at him as they urged their mounts forward. "I knew we wouldn't walk away from this war unscathed. We made so many friends, but we lost just as many whether it be in spirit, in physical form, or in mind."

"Indeed, it is, Princess." The Silver Knight murmured in agreement.

The patrol moved out, their minds heavy with newest loss. They traversed the handful of miles at a moderate pace, their eyes scanning the landscape. The lush grass of the plains rustled softly, and the sound was much like the despairing sighs of the mournful. Not a creature moved and not a bird sang. The sky was drab and dull, the sunlight somehow less bright than normal. It was as if the land itself was lamenting Kayll's death. The disheartening atmosphere pressed on the trio. Several times Seth found himself paying no attention whatsoever to his surroundings. He berated himself silently time after time, determined not to allow sadness or weariness to keep himself from his duty.

Eirika appeared to be in the same predicament. Whenever Seth glanced at her, her face seemed like it had never known how to smile. Her vibrant blue head hung at an angle that suggested despair, but her sapphire eyes looked hard and experienced, albeit absent. Lute, too, fought hard against the depression that congealed in the air. Her face seemed to battle between that dreamily content smile Seth had seen earlier and a pale visage of stomach-knotting fear.

Seth wrestled away a tendril of melancholy for what seemed like the twentieth time when something finally captured his full attention.

Lute's head had snapped up and her hands had jerked her mount to a standstill. A look of total concentration passed over her face. Seth waited patiently. The mage knight turned her mount about in a full circle.

"Lute, what is it?" He asked at last when it seemed as though she wasn't going to answer any time soon.

A frustrated scowl twisted her features. "I don't know." She muttered. "Something just doesn't feel right to me. Like an itch that won't go away no matter how much you ignore it. I don't possess Myrrh's ability to sense magic near me, but something doesn't sit well with me. Call it whatever you like, but I'm positive something . . . isn't right."

Seth scanned the area with calculating eyes. The sparse trees thickened here as it was closer to the Woods. For nearly a half hour they had traveled along the uneven line of trees that marked the edge of Darkling Woods. To the west were small, rolling hills that stretched out into the prairie where their camp was set up. Lute turned her horse to face the trees. They waited anxiously, hearing and seeing nothing. Five minutes passed after that and their mounts rolled their eyes, flicking their ears, and shifting their weight. The air didn't feel right to them, either. A few more minutes passed and then—"Do you smell that?" Their horses snorted, nostrils flaring. The scent of decay filled the air.

Lute pulled a tome from her saddlebag. "It's a fiend." She muttered tightly.


	41. To the Death

**A/N: **Wow. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I actually had this chapter finished for awhile, now. I wanted to add more to it, but found that the portion I was writing would fit better in a separate chapter. So, because of that, I have half of the next chapter already written, which means a faster update next time. Yay! Sadly, this chapter is 3,000 words less than the last one, making it about 4,000-some words. I've been stressing over this chapter for a long time and I hope it's up to par and fits the flow. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **If this doesn't work out, blame the people who own Fire Emblem.

* * *

**41) To the Death**

The pungent scent of decay filtered through the air; Lute coughed as her senses were overwhelmed. She could hear the rustling of the trees, their branches scraping together, their leaves shivering. Leaf litter and fallen branches crumpled and splintered under the footsteps of the approaching monster. All was silent for a moment, the air tense and quivering. Lute imagined the fiend observing them from its place behind the cover of the forest. With gritted teeth, the mage knight clutched her tome in a white-knuckled grasp. The horses fidgeted beneath their riders, nostrils flaring with the scent of danger. Lute's violet eyes scanned the trees before her frantically, attempting to seek out the fiend before it made its move. Her eyes darted to a shadowed area where the trees seemed to lean outward; she saw the grizzled bone of the fiend before it lunged from its hiding place.

The mage knight, who had been waiting for such a moment, unleashed her explosive Elfire. A column of red and orange flames reared up around the shape of the draco zombie, hissing and roaring as it climbed toward the sky. The fiend within cried out hoarsely, and the sound was broken and rasping, almost quiet beneath the sound of the Elfire. In the next moment, the brilliant, fiery pillar dissipated as a blast of purplish-black tore through it.

Wretched Air.

That attack had sent more soldiers into the arms of their clerics more than any other. Draco zombies were fearfully powerful beasts; one alone could devastate a troop of soldiers, and this one was no different. With her eyes inspecting the fiend standing almost proudly before them, Lute knew it to be a general from its size alone, but . . .

The fiend's seemingly proud head drooped low, giving the appearance of being weary.

Was it already wounded? Lute nibbled her bottom lip in contemplation as Seth charged forward with Audhulma gleaming in his hand. The Sacred Twin weapon scored a deep line across the skull of the draco zombie. The beast staggered back under the blow, its hindquarters backing into and snapping some the trees marking the edge of Darkling Woods. Then, its head whipped in the direction Seth was retreating and its maw opened wide to dispel the jet of Wretched Air. With a glance over his shoulder and some quick evasive maneuvering, Seth narrowly avoided the stream of foul magic. Eirika called out in alarm and galloped forward, drawing the fiend's attention; the draco zombie general turned empty eye sockets on the young princess of Renais. A large, dirty claw lashed out to rake the earth, dragging its body toward Eirika with a mighty heave.

Lute saw the gruesome jaw open again and heard Seth curse somewhere nearby. She attacked again with Elfire, this time throwing it up like a wall between the reanimated dragon and the princess. Lute held the magic there, concentrating on the circulating energies, feeling the fiendish magic batter the fire. Her brow knotted in concentration as she felt the strain of holding a magical attack that was meant to dissipate after delivering its punishing blow. She wondered, briefly, how Artur could have withstood such an exertion when she spoke with the fiends he captured with her. As soon as the princess was well out the way, Lute gave a forceful push both mentally and physically to make the wall of flames topple over on the draco zombie.

Feeling she was too close to the monster, the mage knight wheeled her mount around and joined Seth and Eirika a reasonable distance away. She watched and waited in anticipation; what was the fiend going to do next?

"Princess Eirika, go back for reinforcements; we can't handle this general alone," Seth ordered, his eyes trained on the flaming mound that was the draco zombie. "It's much too risky. We've fought simple draco zombies before and they were dangerous enough. I won't allow the possibility of all three of us dying this morning."

Seth's words sent a pang of fear through Lute's abdomen as Artur's smiling visage appeared in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she buckled down the urge to worry incessantly. Whenever she felt she was too emotional on the battlefield, Lute separated her emotions from her thoughts; she did so now. On the exhale, the mage knight was composed, her eyes like chips of violet stone.

"Seth," she said with a perfectly calm tone of voice. "Make sure Eirika fetches whoever can wield magic; find Saleh, if at all possible."

The Silver Knight nodded his ascent. "Go, Princess, and hurry!"

Eirika hesitated only a moment before turning her mount around abruptly and galloped off; the hoof beats faded with distance. Lute stared hard at the general, who had yet to move from its place. The Elfire had died away quickly, leaving the corroded meat smoking on the bones of the draco zombie. The mage knight frowned; the fiend still did not move, but it had not dissolved to ash as a slain fiend will do.

"Seth, there is something peculiar about this monster," she told him quietly. "I do not like it."

The paladin shook his head. "Neither do I," he said, his voice grim.

Lute considered the sanity of her next actions for only a brief second. She moved her mount dangerously close to the fiend; within striking distance, to be precise. Seth called her back with steel in his voice, but the mage knight blocked out his insistent tone. Lute watched the draco zombie for a tense moment, and decided it wasn't going to attack. Instead, it shifted its head slightly; Lute was sure that if it had eyes, the eye nearest her would have swiveled to catch her in its peripheral vision.

"Human," it rasped in the Voice of the Dead. "why are you not attacking?"

"A better question, fiend," she replied also in the Voice. "would be 'why are _you_ not attacking.' Surely a strong demon such as you does nothing without reason."

The draco zombie seemed to laugh, though it sounded like strange, hollow wheezing to Lute. "Strong? I know you are not blind, human, so you are mocking me."

"Lute! What is it saying?" Seth demanded from a safe distance behind her. His tone was strained with apprehension and a little frustration.

She ignored him. "Are you saying that you were wounded previously?"

"I am one of three fiends remaining. There are no others. Without a source of Dark magic to thrive upon, we weaken, withering like plants without water," it told her with what seemed like a weary tone. "My king is dead once more, and his successor, too, is dead. There is nothing in this world left for us. We soon will be starved, for this pure land will sap us of our strength."

Lute chewed over the words, experiencing some relief at the knowledge that there only three fiends left to deal with. If what the draco zombie was saying, then without a powerful user of Dark magic, or even a source of it, the fiends could not carry on the functions of life. Even if the Renais army did nothing, the fiends still "alive" would "die again." She pondered, briefly, the possibilities of the fiends regaining a second wind if Knoll was still with the army. More than likely, Zinneth would have preyed on the shaman and used him like a parasite would use another animal for its meal. The mage knight thanked the gods that they had sent Knoll back to Grado long ago.

She eyed the fiend before her again, noting how it seemed somehow not so intimidating and mighty. If the draco zombie knew it wasn't going to last long enough to muster an effective retaliation, why was it here now?

"You came to us to die, did you not?" she asked it calmly, finding the answers herself as she thought over the situation the fiends were in. "Are you certain of your actions? Some would consider this a cowardly retreat."

A sigh rattled the corpse's ribcage, loose bones knocking against their neighbors. "I am more than ready to make a retreat; it does not matter to me how cowardly or without honor it looks. When Zinneth resurrected me and my fellows, we were filled with a sense of duty; we had to have vengeance for our king. Now, however, I am too tired to care about my king's memory. This battle has gone on for far too long. Like you, I am waiting for the end of this war." The fiend appeared to relax its entire body. Lute imagined its closed eyes.

The mage knight finally answered her general's question without taking her eyes from the monster in front of her. "It's here on a suicide mission, General Seth. Apparently, the fiends cannot function without a strong source of Dark magic. It wishes for us to finish it off so it would not have to 'starve,' as the fiend says."

Seth was quiet for a long moment, thinking over their next actions. "It seems that we did not need reinforcements, after all," he mused aloud.

"Shall I finish it, General?"

He nodded. "You might as well; it would be taking one step closer to ending this wretched war. First, ask it what other fiends still remain."

Lute knew there were two others, and she knew one had to be Zinneth; that snake would survive through anything. "Who are the other fiends, draco zombie?"

"General Zinneth of the Gorgons and General Drengar of the Maelduins," it answered without shifting from its feigned sleep.

Seth wasn't particularly surprised when Lute relayed the information back; he, too, suspected at least Zinneth to be among the survivors. Lute was sure this was a relief on the general's mind; knowing there were only two obstacles left to tackle was uplifting when the finish was so close. She couldn't help but think of her life after the war with Artur. _Marriage_, the thought whispered through her mind, making her heart leap with adrenaline. Realizing the thoughts were distracting, she pulled away and planted herself firmly into reality. There was a fiend directly in front of her; she couldn't be drifting off into her mind at a time like this!

Lute shook herself and shifted her grip on the tome in her hands. "Any parting words, fiend?" She had said it cynically, not expecting the beast to actually regard her seriously.

"Yes," it murmured wearily. "I wish this retaliation had never happened. Let the dead rest in peace—is that too much to ask? You do not know the favor you are doing me."

The words made her pause. Lute had never heard of a compassionate fiend, yet this one before her seemed to understand mercy and repentance. Was it possible that not all fiends were murderous, sadistic monsters? Maybe, but the pause was a mistake.

It happened fast, startling Lute from her thoughts and freezing her where she should in helpless shock.

A blur of crimson and yellow shot out from the trees, almost pouncing on the draco zombie when it landed. Zinneth, perched on the fiend's back looked up at Lute with a kind of grin the mage knight would expect to see on a cat. The gorgon coiled herself like a boa constrictor around the draco zombie's shoulders and neck. Without pause, she sunk claws and teeth into the skeletal fiend's forehead, driving straight through the bone. The fiend roared in raspy bursts of air, writhing and rolling in pain.

Lute had no idea of what was happening, despite all her knowledge of demons. Glancing to Seth, she saw the Silver Knight didn't know what to do, either. Technically, trying to stop Zinneth would be saving the other fiend, if only to kill it later. Allowing the gorgon to continue with her attack felt cruel, but, all in all, the fiend would be dead and they wouldn't have to lift a finger. By the time Lute had come to the conclusion that it was wiser to allow the fiends to battle it out rather than interfering, the deed (whatever it was) was finished.

The draco zombie moved no more, looking hollow and brittle, as if it had lied in the ground for years. That might have been the case, anyway, but watching Zinneth do whatever she had done was like watching a body decay decades in mere seconds. When the gorgon uncoiled herself from the bones, the empty carcass collapsed into a mound of ash and dust. Zinneth straightened to her full height, a strange gleam in her crimson eyes. She bared her fangs, which were painted an odd black color. Lute thought it odd because there wasn't anything to be gained from the draco zombie, not even blood. What coated her fangs that made them become dark in color?

"What have you done?" Lute asked, shifting her mount back a few steps.

Zinneth slithered forward, a perfectly fluid movement marred only by the long, jagged scars running down the length of her body. Lute didn't remember seeing them before. "I have only taken back what I gave out. Is it not in my right to revoke the gifts that are ill used?" the gorgon asked, her tone taking on an almost innocent quality. "Besides, where it would have been a waste of Dark magic on him, it is assuredly a benefit for me."

The mage knight's gaze narrowed. Dark magic; that was what had stained the gorgon's teeth. She sucked the power from the draco zombie with her fangs. "You murdered your comrade to help yourself? Somehow, I am not surprised in the least," she muttered tightly.

Zinneth shrugged, indifferent, and stroked the head of a snaky strand of hair. "I know you humans frown upon such things, but in my world betrayal is a common enough thing that everyone is accustomed to it, expects it, even."

Lute snickered. "Your 'world' is coming to an end, Zinneth. The draco zombie you killed told me that there are only two fiends remaining. Surely you do not think you can take on a whole army with so little?"

"Actually, there is only me," the gorgon corrected.

She seemed undeterred by that fact, and it grated on Lute's nerves. "Are you so arrogant that you are blind to the reality of your disadvantage?"

"On the contrary," Zinneth argued. "I think that we are evenly matched here. There are only two of you humans here. How easy would it be for me to finish the both of you off before that female comes back with reinforcements? Ah, you did not realize I had been watching that long." The gorgon chuckled with an undertone of a hiss in her voice. "Your only choice here is to fight me, so what are you waiting for?"

Lute quickly relayed the details of the situation back to Seth, who seemed unfazed. "Gorgons aren't too difficult to defeat," he told her. "You simply need to get up under their guard. Their specialty is long-ranged attacks; they can't do much with close-ranged foes."

"Yes, but we've seen that these reserves are much more than their brethren we fought before," Lute reminded. "Who knows what tricks Zinneth has for us? If she can take the Dark magic from her fellows, how powerful is she now?"

Seth's mouth flattened into a grim line. "So, it all comes down to being careful."

Zinneth's gaze slid from one human to the other, as if trying to decide which one to attack first. Her eyes locked on Lute, who averted her gaze quickly at the risk of being frozen by the hypnotizing eyes. The mage knight tensed for an attack, but the gorgon switched her target; she lunged for Seth, who skillfully raised his shield. The gorgon's long nails scored the metal, creating furrows where they raked down the shield. Seth retaliated with a strike from Audhulma, the blade flashing in the morning light. The sword, however, met nothing but air as Zinneth recoiled, curling away and bunching up like a serpent ready to attack. Lute called out an attack with Elfire, hoping to distract the gorgon from the paladin, but Zinneth slithered away again with a soft hiss. The flames of Elfire faded away, allowing Seth to charge through the ashes with a javelin in his grip. The javelin flew from his hand, sailing through the air to land inches from Zinneth's coiling body, which had twitched aside to avoid the thrown spear.

"Pin me down, will you?" the gorgon spat. She darted forward with a stretch of her body, raising her clawed hand to attack, but they met Seth's shield again. Frustrated, the gorgon dug in her nails and ripped the barrier from the paladin's hand. She tossed it away easily and raised her other arm for a point-blank shot.

Seth watched the Dark magic build up in the serpent's mouth of Zinneth's right arm, feeling a chill go down his spine. His mount reared up, hooves flailing, knocking the arm up and away from the Silver Knight. The Shadowshot went high, exploding in the air as a ball of crackling black and violet energy, like morbid fireworks. Zinneth's crimson eyes traveled up and she spat an ugly curse at the human, turning again to attack. Lute wasted no time in delivering another round of Elfire; the pillar of flames engulfed Zinneth's snaky end, causing a shriek of pain to rise into the air while Seth wheeled away from the immediate danger.

"Do not turn your back from me, Zinneth!" Lute shouted. "The one you truly wish to battle is not that human."

When the Elfire died away, Zinneth straightened, her tail smoking and stinking of charred flesh. "So be it, human; fight me alone, if you dare. I know you humans are the honorable type; what honor comes of battling two-to-one?"

"Picking us off one-by-one, is that your plan?" Lute demanded. She glanced at Seth and told him not to interfere. "This is my battle," she stated firmly.

She saw the uncertainty in Seth's eyes and launched another attack to dismiss it; Seth was forced to stand by, his gaze occasionally flickering behind them in search for their reinforcements. Zinneth drew away from the blast, throwing another Shadowshot at the mage knight. Lute's mount danced aside, snorting and flickering its ears, tail lashing out behind it. This went on for some time, each opponent striking and dodging; it was a lethal dance of power and skill. Zinneth never ventured close to Lute, biding her time calmly for when the mage knight opened her guard. Lute chased after the gorgon with alternating attacks of Anima and Light magic, wary of the petrifying crimson gaze and the grasp that could potentially Possess her.

Each fought fiercely with different motives urging them on; the burn for revenge fueled Lute, while the manic desire to defeat all magic users, Lute in particular, controlled Zinneth's actions. Lute's armor and clothing were damp and sticky with perspiration, her hair clung to her forehead and temples, and weariness from casting attack after attack dragged at her limbs; thoughts of Ewan's violation and of Lyssa's and Kayll's deaths made her set all of that aside, made her focus her thoughts and energized her movements. The snake would die for all that she had done, for all the misery and pain she had inflicted.

Zinneth, too, was feeling the effects of the long duel; her tail, tender and sore, greatly affected her balance and her right arm ached with every Shadowshot that was expelled. She would not give in, however; magic users must be wiped from the earth. They had started all of this by resurrecting King Fomortiis from his peaceful oblivion and Zinneth would end it by destroying the magic user that had caused her the most grief.

Like all battles, this duel could not go on as it was for very long. The striking and dodging repetitions were only effective for a short amount of time; weariness would eventually cause one opponent to react a second slower or retaliate an instant too late. It was Lute who succumbed involuntarily to the weakness in her limbs; she turned her mount too abruptly, causing her to slide in the saddle and, ultimately, fall to the ground. Determined, she rolled to her feet, panting for lost breath, and held her tome tightly. Zinneth took advantage of the fall, locking her eyes onto the mage knight's violet gaze as she looked up. Like all of Zinneth's victims, Lute froze for a moment, lost in the intensity of the blood-red eyes. It took little effort to cast a Stone attack; Stone was a natural ability for all gorgons.

Those crimson eyes bore into Lute, reaching deep to grasp her mind. Lute didn't realize what was happening until the snake-headed hand began to glow with an eerie mauve color. Seeing her danger, the mage knight tore her eyes away with some difficulty and threw herself aside. Her fatigue made the leg she pushed off with weaker; her leap came a moment too late and fell short.

Excruciating pain raced up her right arm, fierce, hard, and powerful. The mage knight hit the ground, losing her tome, and curled her right arm to her chest, crying out from the icy agony. Her arm felt much too heavy and her fingertips were senseless and cold. The pain quickly settled into a throbbing ache halfway up her forearm. Lute dimly heard Seth calling for her from afar, but her attention was focused on her unmoving limb. She sat up slowly and looked down at her wounded arm.

What she found chilled her.

Her right hand and half of her forearm had been turned to stone. Hard, gray, heavy stone. She had seen other soldiers turned into stone, but she had never experienced it herself. Nevertheless, she knew the effects . . . and the consequences. If she didn't find a cleric to Restore her arm to a living condition, the damage would be permanent.

She gritted her teeth against the dull throb in her arm where the living tissue abruptly shifted to rough stone. No matter. Lute could still fight, and Zinneth wasn't going to get away with this. The mage knight struggled to her feet, retrieving her tome as she did so, her right arm hanging uselessly at her side. Zinneth stood a fair distance away with her mouth curled into a cruel smirk. A spear of loathing, hot and wild, raced through Lute; her next attack was fierce with roiling strength. Zinneth's smirk quickly melted into a scowl as she tried to twist away from the hot flames of Elfire; however, the gorgon's guard had been down and the fiery magic scored her back as she turned. The snake-woman hit the ground most ungracefully and spat curses under her breath. Zinneth rose up stiffly and slowly, her face a grotesque mask of pain and repugnance.

"Ready to give up, Zinneth?" Lute called, her voice sounding stronger than she felt.

"You shall die before I surrender," the gorgon answered with malice. Something beyond Lute caught Zinneth's attention. "Perhaps, you shall die before your precious humans."

"What?" Lute cast a cursory glance over her shoulder to see Eirika leading the reinforcements up to Seth. Artur was with them, and his horror-filled eyes captured hers. A pang of apprehension went through her; he wasn't supposed to be here! How was she going to concentrate on the fight if _he_ was there, occupying every other thought? Lute shook it away; she had to regain control, had to separate the emotion from the battle. It was both the sudden terror in his face and the crackling in the air that alerted Lute to the danger behind her.

She threw herself aside, feeling the dark, sweeping presence of the Shadowshot fly by her. The mage knight had missed it by inches, but her rage overcame the quivering fear at the thought. She whirled around to face the fiend. "That was low and cowardly, snake," she spat.

Zinneth shrugged indifferently. "It matters not what strike finishes the foe so long as the attacker lives."

Seething, Lute whistled for her mount. The horse drew to a quick stop next to her. Clumsily, the mage knight mounted up and rifled through the saddle bags. Her lips curled into a smirk as she pulled the Purge from the bag. Lute may not have been an excellent Light magic user, but she could use Purge. It might have been better if Artur joined her with his Ivaldi, but she couldn't risk his safety. Besides, Zinneth wanted only Lute to duel her, and Lute reciprocated the feeling.

"I will not be caught unawares again, Zinneth," she warned.

Tapping her heels to her mount's sides, Lute charged forward with the incantation on her lips. The Purge descended upon Zinneth, who raised her arms. However, the movement was not to shield herself, rather, it was to launch another Shadowshot into the center of the Purge. The Light magic was torn apart as the Dark magic simultaneously dissipated on contact. Undeterred, Lute pulled her mount to a halt and quickly cast another Purge. The close range put Zinneth at a disadvantage; the gorgon scrambled to get out of the direct line of attack. She wasn't quick enough, however, as the Light magic engulfed her left arm. Scales, flesh, and muscle was burnt away, leaving only a stripped, skeletal limb behind. The gorgon screamed, a piercing sound, and writhed upon the ground, limbs and damaged tail coiling and whipping about in sheer agony.

Lute watched with a sneer on her lips, feeling triumph well in her chest. Just a little more and it would be finished. She dismounted and stood over the gorgon's form, which trembled in pain. Zinneth turned her face upward, glaring with all her hatred, and hissed softly.

"It ends here, Zinneth," she told the gorgon quietly.

"Yes," Zinneth agreed with a sharp hiss. "It shall."

Lute saw the right, snake-headed arm rise up and shouted out the incantation, turning aside at the same time. The Purge shot downward and the Shadowshot rose up at a slant with the power and likeness of a geyser. The Shadowshot struck her right shoulder, sending her spinning to the ground. With her face in the dirt, Lute couldn't see the aftermath of the two attacks, but she heard Zinneth screaming again. Fiery pain danced through her shoulder, spreading down her arm to combine with the throb of her damaged forearm. She tried to rise, but collapsed back to the ground, exhausted and overwhelmed by the newest injury. She decided to lie still until the dizziness faded. A minute or so passed before Lute dimly realized that Zinneth had stopped shrieking at some point.

That and Artur was calling for her.

Lute pulled herself around using only her left arm to face the gorgon. Twin blood-red orbs stared blankly at her, glazed over with pain and a stillness accompanied only with encroaching death. Zinneth's chest heaved with each breath, but otherwise the fiend was unmoving. The scent of musty, old blood filled the immediate area. The rancid smell went straight to Lute's head, and a migraine quickly made its presence known with vicious pounding. As much as she wanted to close her eyes to dull the pounding of her head, Lute was transfixed by the empty stare of the gorgon's eyes.

Zinneth's glassy eyes seemed to focus on her, but there was no emotion in them. The fiend slowly, sluggishly stretched her skeletal arm toward Lute, reaching for the mage knight. Lute couldn't move. She watched the fleshless hand creep toward her, inching forward with a life of its own. The bony fingertips itched at the air only inches from her face. The hand wavered like the head of an agitated serpent before it crumbled into dust. The gorgon's body compressed, all air and fluids vanished from the corpse. Those blank, crimson discs turned inky black and dissolved away with the rest of the body, falling apart, unraveling like a rope.

She stared at the pile of ash, holding her breath for a long moment. When Zinneth's death finally hit her, Lute slumped, expelling that abated breath with much relief. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cool ground.

Over. It was finally over. All of the pain, the fear, the hatred, the sorrow—over. And what a glorious feeling that was.

While the strong scent of ash flooded her nostrils, Lute simply reveled in the relief. The tension let her body and the exhaustion she had been holding back from day one landed on her like an avalanche, pounds upon pounds of solid weariness. She couldn't find the will to smile, but she would if she could. Lute was beginning to relax into the numb embrace of unconsciousness when a hand rudely roused her from the lethargic cloud shrouding her mind. Sudden pain lit her nerve endings and a cry broke from her lips.

"Lute, oh gods above, you're alive!"

Her eyes cracked open, but she saw nothing save grass and dirt. She blinked sluggishly, feeling eons older than she had minutes ago. She was about to reply, but her world was suddenly spinning, turning, whirling around her. Her head protested vehemently, pounding at her eyes, while her arm shrieked its dissent. She was screaming—she knew she was—but she couldn't hear herself above the agony.

"Shh, easy. You'll be all right, I promise."

She knew Artur's voice and she trusted him beyond what words could express. Lute was aware that several hands, possibly a few arms, were holding her; she let them do so because she didn't look forward to walking—or even riding—back to camp. Lute had closed her eyes in hopes of easing the ache in her head; she didn't see who her rescuers were, but she knew Artur was among them.

That was enough for her.


	42. Aftershocks

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. I told you I would update sooner, but I didn't. I would have updated on Saturday, but my computer was giving me a few problems. I struggled toward the end with this chapter; it was too short and I couldn't think of anything to add at the end. We're a few chapters away from the conclusion! Can you believe it? This fic has been going on for a little more than a year; I'm going to miss it when the final chapter is posted. Hopefully, you'll miss me, too? (.:teasing:. Or is that too much to wish for?) Please, review!

Note: Myrrh's philosophy on death and burial/cremation do not necessarily reflect my views. I simply considered the ideals of such a topic appropriate for the time.

**Disclaimer: **Once again, I do not own the genius that is Fire Emblem. Frankly, I'm glad I don't; FE is too much of a headache to own.

* * *

**42) Aftershocks**

When Eirika came galloping into camp alone, the expression on her face had chilled Artur to the bone. There was frantic desperation mixed with a good deal of fear in her sapphire eyes. He knew Lute was on patrol with General Seth, but it didn't ease any of his abrupt anxiety to know the Silver Knight was out there, too. Once in camp, she had ordered all Light magic users to accompany her. Needless to say, Artur wasted no time in grabbing up his sacred Ivaldi—a tome he rarely used; he preferred to allow Saleh to handle the powerful magic even though Eirika had entrusted it to him. There was something about the tome that radiated so much power that Artur felt he wasn't worthy of having it in his possession.

Most of the Light magic users went on foot as they hadn't been trained to fight from the saddle. Their progress was slow, something that irritated him to no end. If Eirika had returned to camp for reinforcements, didn't that mean that something bad had happened? Was Lute hurt? Were she and Seth outnumbered? Artur had an idea that this skirmish would be the very last, and he prayed to the gods above that it ended in their favor.

As they arrived upon the scene, they could all feel the tension in the air, and the explosions had been visible from a distance. Artur quickly saw it was a one-on-one fight between Lute and the gorgon general, Zinneth. His heart leapt painfully with sharp fear. Supposedly, the gorgon general was the strongest of all the fiends. Artur didn't like the fact that Lute fought the monster alone, especially when Seth was standing in the background. The Silver Knight's face was tense with anxiety and apprehension, but it relaxed marginally when hisburgundy eyes spotted the reinforcements. Eirika led them up to Seth, where a great deal of frantic whispers was traded. The reinforcements were forced to wait while their superiors hashed over the dangers of the situation.

Artur kept his eyes on Lute, watching every move, every narrow escape. He noticed at once that there was something wrong with Lute's arm, but she wouldn't keep still long enough for him to identify the problem. At one point, their eyes locked, and Artur felt a bolt of horror strike his chest when Zinneth hurled a Shadowshot at the unsuspecting mage knight. He released a tight breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Lute flung herself aside. Too close; that attack had been too close for comfort. He wondered how many times Lute had almost been hit, was it not for her perceptive focus in battle. He watched with a knot in his stomach as Lute charged the general, as Zinneth shot an attack into the heart of the Light magic. He watched with clammy hands as Lute dismounted, standing over the downed fiend, and struck once more. Simultaneously, the gorgon launched another sinister Shadowshot. A strangled cry rose in his throat as Lute spun and collapsed to the ground. Immediately following the attacks,Zinnethshrieked like a thing possessed. Her screams were needles digging into his eardrums, sending pain straight to his brain. The gorgon continued to scream for several long minutes and Lute . . .

Lute did not move.

They had been transfixed by the sudden action, swept up by the battle and the terrifying screams; they were frozen for those achingly lengthy minutes. All, except for Artur. With gritted teeth and a hammering heart, he ran at a ground-eating pace toward the lavender figure that had yet to move. All the while he called her name, his voice octaves higher than normal due to the fear clawing its agonizing way into his heart. Still a fair distance away, he saw Lute drag herself over to the gorgon, whose screams had stopped rather abruptly. There was some small movement, and then the gorgon was no longer there; the body had degenerated to dust. Lute seemed to slump, and Artur couldn't reach her side fast enough.

He shook her with aquivering hand, causing her limp body to jerk and her voice to cry out. "Lute, oh gods above, you're alive!" The words ripped themselves from his lips, making him realize that he had feared her to be dead since her body had hit the ground. His amber eyes scanned her, searching and finding injury. Her right shoulder was a burnt mass of blood and torn flesh and her hand . . . Artur swallowed hard. Lute's forearm had been turned to stone.

_Cleric_, he thought frantically. _She needs an expert cleric to fix this. This is far beyond my skill._

Withthese panicked thoughts circulating in his head, Artur gathered Lute into his arms, lifting her effortlessly due to the adrenaline coursing through his system. A scream tore from her throat, the sound lancing through his heart. "Shh, easy. You'll be all right, I promise."

He turned to find Saleh right behind him, his eyes hard and his face grim. A few paces behind the mauve haired sage was Ewan, his face as expressionless and devoid of life as ever. Artur almost turned the both of them away, but they were there and willing to help. Together Artur and Ewan bore Lute's weight while Saleh muttered healing spells under his breath. The ugly wound on Lute's shoulder closed up, but the skin was still stained with crusting blood and looked quite tender. Her arm, however, was not affected in the least.

_Natasha, I have to get her to Natasha._

Seth and Eirika approached them on horseback. Wordlessly, Seth reached down and took Lute's unconscious figure from them. For a moment, Artur was torn. Seth would reach Natasha faster and Lute's arm might be saved, but the pain in his chest told Artur not to leave her. As soon as Lute was secure, Seth galloped away, his mount kicking up a trail of dust. Eirika offered Artur a hand, which he accepted readily, swinging into the saddle behind the princess. With a lurch, they were off, following Seth at break-neck speed. No words were traded, not even when Natasha met them as they slid to a halt in camp.

Natasha simply ushered them into the infirmary tent and set to work. Artur followed behind, stood off to the side, simply watched, andremained still. Oddly, he felt numb, though his heart was racing and his hands were cold, so cold. The blonde cleric was a flurry of movement, a blur of chanted words, and a tight jumble of adrenaline and worry. He felt strangely separate from the scene, as if there was a film over everything and he was unable to reach past it. He felt helpless.

_Lute, oh, Lute. Open your eyes. Send me a smile. Tell me everything will be all right in that chiding voice of yours. "I'm a prodigy, after all." Say that for me. Just don't. Don't leave. _

"It's all I ask," he murmured aloud.

"Artur, I need you to leave the tent, please." Natasha's cerulean eyes looked up into his. "Please, she will be all right, but right now I need to think; you're distracting me."

He blinked. It took several seconds for her words to sink in. Artur shook his head, "Let me help."

"No. You wouldn't be able to think rationally. Please, exit the tent until I come to get you. If you find Saleh, send him this way," Natasha ordered gently.

Artur didn't move as the cloud descended over him again. _Please, Lute, don't leave._

Someone grabbed him roughly and dragged him from the tent. Heprotested weakly, at first, but his captor was far stronger than him. In a daze, he was forced to sit on a crate of supplies just outside of the tent. Artur's eyes traveled up to identify the person who had dragged him from the infirmary. After staring into the sharp, tan face, Artur registered the person as Cormag. He couldn't mistake the stormy eyes, or the messy, sun bleached hair.

The wyvern lord crossed his arms over a muscular chest, looking down at him with an emotionless, calculating visage. He was allowing Artur a chance to speak, to vent. It occurred to Artur that Cormag had become his counselor of sorts somewhere along the way. The last time Artur had spoken with him was when he had wanted advice about Lute's love for him. It seemed so long ago.

"Zinneth's dead," he said after some time had passed. His tone would have been almost conversational, were it notfor the vacant stare in his eyes.

"Nice to know," Cormag replied curtly.

"The fiends are gone. All of them."

"Guess I can sleep a full night."

"Yes," Artur agreed with a far-away tone. "Yes, I suppose so."

Cormag was silent for a brief moment, judging how connected to reality Artur was. "She'll be fine, you know."

"Yes, I know."

"It's not like she hasn't been hurt before," the wyvern lord continued.

"No, it's not like that at all."

"She always comes through all right."

"She does."

Cormag sighed, seeing this was going nowhere. He simply wasn't cut out for the job of comforter. "Artur, snap out of it!" he said tersely.

The frailer man jerked, startled. He blinked a few times, looking up at the taller soldier. "Cormag, I'm afraid," he whispered. "I was terrified, but now I'm just afraid. I shouldn't be, but I am."

The wyvern lord ran a hand through his messy blond hair, debating. What should he say to that? Cormag didn't handle emotion. It wasn't his area of expertise. He sighed, "You have every right to be scared."

"But . . . the danger's over. The fiends are gone—all of them. The war is over and we're all still alive." Artur shook his head. "I shouldn't be afraid, but I am."

Cormag decided he wasn't going to dance around the topic. Laying out the cards before the youngsageplainly and bluntly seemed like the only approach to take. "The woman you love is lying in the infirmary. The war is over, yes, but we don't have any idea what our next move is. Honestly, Artur, I'm scared because I don't know what is going to happen next."

The other man blinked again, as if seeing the strong wyvern lord in a new light. "You are?"

Cormag's mouth twitched into a half smile. "Damn right I am."

"Her arm was turned to stone," Artur said abruptly.

Cormag felt the lighthearted smirk fade into a line.

The smaller man's eyes stared out into the empty air. "I've seen it before, especially when we chased the late Prince Lyon into the gorgon's nest. It's unsettling to witness, I'll tell you that, but I've seen it before, helped heal victims, even. Well, actually, I just kept them still while Natasha reversed the magic." He was babbling now; he knew that, but it didn't stop him. "I've heard their screams as their dead limbs were resurrected. It's hard to listen to, but you do whatever you can so they recover from that agony. If you don't, they'll likely lose all function of that limb. That's why—," His voice cracked. "That's why I tried to bring her here as fast as possible. Seth was the one to actually bring her to Natasha, though. Her injuries, collectively, aren't fatal, but . . ."

Cormag watched as Artur seemed to crumple, to fold in on himself.

"All this time, all this time spent fighting the retaliation, she was never harmed. It was always me, and that's how I would prefer it to be. I would face a bael a hundred times over than have her hurt."

The wyvern lord couldn't help but to smile at that. Artur was ever the passionate, protective man. "That's usually how love works, or so I've been told."

The words brought a weak smile to Artur's lips, but it appeared for only a brief amount of time. "I'm relieved that she's alive. I'm happy that her wounds aren't life-threatening, but . . . Lute isn't one to be held back by anything, much less a—a disability, but she won't be happy about it. She would recover from it as best as she could, but it would haunt her." He tried to smile. Tried and failed. "I'm just glad that she's unconscious for the Restoration."

"Must be a doozey," the blond commented absently.

"The worst,"the other manmuttered, dropping his head to stare at his knees. "Dead flesh wants to stay dead," he continued. "Stone is an inanimate magic, different from all other types of magic. It doesn't possess a . . . well, it's difficult to explain. The closest I can come to explaining it is this:Stone doesn't have a spirit like Fire, Light, or Lightning does. Stone doesn't possess or consume energy; it's stagnant and likes to stay that way. That is what makes it so difficult to control and even more difficult to undo. Natasha is exhausted after every Restoration because it takes so much energy to resurrect the dead body parts." Artur pressed his hands over his eyes, propping his elbows on his knees.

"She's a strong person; she'll pull through," Cormag assured him.

"I know."

The wyvern lord nudged Artur's foot with the toe of his boot. "Then, stop worrying."

Amber eyes looked up, a faint smile curving the distressed man's mouth. "I'll try."

* * *

Saleh watched both the princess and General Seth ride away with Artur and Lute. Glancing back to the group of reinforcements, he discovered that they no longer had a superior among them, save L'Arachel. However, L'Arachel was a poor leader; she would most likely lead them on a search in case the last fiend wasn't truly the last fiend. With a quirk of his lips, he decided if any of them were to give direction, it would have to be himself, although he had never given orders to anyone but his student.

Speaking of his student . . .

His gaze caught sight of Ewan walking back to the group (if a total of four could be called a group) wearily behind him. Saleh shook his head. No, he couldn't. Tethys had made it clear that she didn't want Saleh anywhere near her brother. His brow furrowed. Why was Ewan out here; surely he wasn't in the right mindset to fight? Again, the sage checked the urge to approach the younger man. Ewan was no longer his student; he had to keep that in mind.

With a sigh, he addressed the group. "Alright, everyone, let's head back. There isn't any reason to stay out here any longer."

The magic users made their slow way back to camp, following the path the princess and the general had taken. Behind him, Saleh could hear them speaking amongst themselves. L'Arachel was talking to Moulder in her usual overconfident, cheery tone. Moulder replied to her comments politely in his usual fashion. Ewan was silent, which caused Saleh to glance back at him more than once. The war had changed everyone, but Saleh believed Ewan was impacted the most. His demeanor had taken a complete turnabout from eager and curious to sullen and jaded. The next time Saleh looked over his shoulder, he saw that the boy had fallen behind.

Frowning, he made up his mind; Tethys be damned. "Princess L'Arachel, could you please lead us back?"

"Of course!"the troubadouranswered, then returned to her conversation with the Frelian priest. "What a grand return it will be, Moulder! The people will be rejoicing our names for years—can you see it?"

"Yes, Princess."

"After our welcome home, I'll search out that pesky Rennac and give him a good piece of my mind! How dare he skip out on the retaliation? The nerve of him!"

"Yes, Princess."

Saleh used his long-legged stride to carry him back to his former student. "Ewan?" The young sage stopped, his head hung. He stood very still and Saleh noticed his fists shaking. Taking the action for suppressed anger, Saleh nodded solemnly to himself. "Alright, I'll leave—"

"Teacher, please, don't!" Ewan flung himself forward, knocking Saleh a few steps back as he wound his arms around the older man's middle. "Please, don't listen to Tethys. It's over, Teacher, it's all over. I don't want to lose you, too."

Startled, Saleh could only touch the crimson head that was a few inches from reaching theheight of his shoulder. He could feel Ewan shaking, so he murmured to him, reassuring him of things he couldn't promise—again. "Ewan, how could you forgive me so easily?"

The boy was still.

"Your sister will never forgive me, not after what I said to you," the older sagecontinued. "So, how can you?"

Ewan withdrew his arms, winding them around his abdomen. "Sometimes, in certain situations, people say things they don't mean. Their emotion overrides their common sense, so they sometimes say awful things that they later regret. I forgave you because that wasn't really Teacher talking. Tethys told me that she didn't want you around me anymore, that she would make you regret being near me. It was unfair, what she said, because it wasn't _you_ who had said those things." Ewan looked up at him. "I don't want you to leave, okay?"

Saleh smiled as the warmth of redemption filled him. "Okay."

The boy visibly relaxed, relief washing over him in an almost tangible way. "Thank you. We've lost so many people to the war; I didn't want to lose you, too."

Puzzled, Saleh furrowed his brows a little. "What you mean by that, 'we've lost so many?' Next to no one has died."

"I died," Ewan whispered. A chill went down Saleh's back. "Kayll died. Everyone, at least a little piece of them, died."

Growing worried,the older manplaced his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Ewan, what are you saying?"

Eyes that seemed too old for the body they belonged to looked up at the mountainsage. "The war kills a little piece of everyone who fought in it. Most of the time, it destroys them completely, but even those still alive don't walk away unscathed." He shrugged as if it didn't matter. "That's just how life works. It kills a little bit every day until there comes a day when there's nothing left to take."

"Don't talk like that," Saleh said fiercely. "The war is over and we—"

"We can't return to way things were, Teacher. That's the truth of it all," Ewan told him gravely.

The sage removed his hands from the boy's shoulders, staring at his former student with dismay. "Gods, Ewan, you're too young. I should never have allowed you to join the war." _Gods, I've destroyed you. Tethys was right._

"I'm okay, Teacher. I had to grow up sometime, right?"

He was trying to make light of the situation, Saleh realized. "Ewan, stop that. Once we're officially discharged, we'll go home to Caer Pelyn and . . ." He hesitated, not knowing what else to say.

Ewan offered a small, sympathetic smile. "It's all right. We'll figure it out along the way, and I mean _all of us_. The war has changed us so much, uprooted families, destroyed villages, and ravaged the land . . . it's going to take some time before we're back on our feet."

One mauve eyebrow rose. "You're starting to sound too much like me. That is never good." He cuffed Ewan playfully, mussing his crimson hair.

The boy's smile grew. "I'd like to go home, Teacher, to Caer Pelyn. Tethys won't like it, but there's no other place for me. Caer Pelyn has been my home for a long time; I couldn't be home anywhere else."

"The feeling is mutual, Ewan. Come on; let's catch up to the others."

Ewan hesitated. "I need to . . . to b—bur—" Lines of pain creased his features and a grimace slashed his mouth. He shook his head as if to banish the overwhelming emotions. "I need to," he whispered again.

Saleh studied the boy, understanding what had been left unsaid. He debated on allowing Ewan to go through with it; he honestly didn't think the boy could handle such a situation so soon after losing Kayll. However, the burial needed to be done, and Ewan was stubborn enough to go whether Saleh forbade him or not.

The sage sighed, "All right."

They turned south and walked the long distance to the grassy plains where Kayll had drawn her last breath. The journey was silent and a depressing atmosphere pressured the pair from every side. Saleh wondered if it was just him, or if every step seemed heavier as they closed the distance between Kayll and themselves. The sun was climbing the sky, but large, white clouds crowded around it in an attempt to hide the cheerful rays. Nevertheless, the sunlight filtered down through the fluffy masses to cast faint spotlights upon the ground. The tall, prairie grass waved in a gentle wind, fluttering in the direction of their destination. When they reached the site, they found someone else keeping Kayll's body company.

Myrrh stood from her crouch and turned to face the sages as they approached. She offered them a small smile. "I knew you would return here eventually, Ewan. I have been waiting here for that time, though I didn't have to wait as long as I had predicted. I know L'Arachel would have liked to bestow her blessing, but I thought Kayll would have liked something more private." Her large burgundy eyes glanced down upon the figure wrapped ina white sheet. "I was about to form a resting place for her when you arrived."

"Form?"

Her smile became playful. "I am the Great Dragon, after all. We won't need shovels with which to dig, though I see you hadn't thought to fetch them, anyway. How were you planning to bury her without shovels?"

Ewan had the grace to blush, though the action seemed more ashamed than embarrassed. "I—I thought I should, well, make a pyre."

Myrrh frowned at him, disapproval darkening her young features. "A pyre is for criminals and murderers--fiends." Ewan flinched. "Why do you think that the monsters crumble to ash when they are slain? It is so their bodies cannot return to the earth they were born from. They are too tainted, so they must burn." She shook her head. "No, we bury the departed. From the earth we were born and to the earth we will return."

With those words, the Great Dragon turned to the sheet-wrapped form and flung her hands wide. The earth opened up, as if parted by enormous hands, and Kayll's body slid down into the indention. Alarmed, Ewan stepped forward and knelt beside the edge. White fists gripped the crumbling dirt and tortured eyes gazed down into the hole. The Manakete knelt beside him, placing one small hand over the clenchedone nearest her. They both looked down into the cleft on Kayll's body, the sheet now smeared with dirt.

"She was someone else before she was Nianna," Myrrh began softly. "Her name was Lyssa. She was a happy young girl, Ewan, before the war began. Would you like me to tell you about her?"

Ewan shook his head slowly. "No," he murmured softly. "No, I don't want to know about Lyssa. She was always Kayll to me and she'll always be Kayll to me. I don't want to know her as anyone else."

Myrrh nodded solemnly. "Very well, I understand." She patted his hand gently. "Know that your love will never die for her, Ewan. Know that and never forget her; she would want that."

"Yes, she certainly would." The boy's voice warbled with tears, though he was smiling. "Kayll would be horribly angry with me if I ever forgot her."

"You won't; I know it."

He nodded as one small tear dropped from his chin into the dirt below. Ewan ducked his head and stood, taking a few steps back from the split in the earth. "All right, you can . . . you can close it up, now."

The Manakete stood and wordlessly motioned with her hands; the earth was sewn back together and Kayll's body disappeared from view. After a moment's thought, Myrrh gestured again and a large rock jutted from the dirt about where Kayll's head would be. The ancient girl moved forward and traced a name onto the stone with a finger. The stone, like the ground, separated where Myrrh's finger had been, leaving behind a shallow groove. Finally, Myrrh stepped back and her human form rippled away into the figure of a gold and emerald dragon. The Manakete opened her mouth wide and a jet of flames spilled forth over the stone. When the fire dissipated, the gray rock had hardened into a gleaming black stone, unbreakable against the passage of time. The Great Dragon shrunk with a soft exhalation into her human form.

Myrrh folded her smaller set of wings against her back and glanced over at Ewan. "Now, she can be properly remembered."

The boy's fragile composure crumpled and he fell to his knees. The tears poured from his claret eyes as his gaze locked upon Kayll's shimmering name carved into the headstone. Pain lodged in his throat, begging him to sob aloud, but he refused to. His hands curled on his thighs in an attempt to battle the pain, the throbbing sorrow, the agonizing despair. Arms drew him into an embrace, where he leaned there limply.

"Let it out, Ewan. Release the tears, allow yourself to cry. I promise I won't leave."

That was exactly what the boy did. He cried and sobbed, moaned and wailed until he felt unbearably exhausted and hollowed out. The comforting arms kept their hold on him through it all, safe and soothing. Thoroughly cried-out, Ewan fell into a numb sleep from which he wasn't roused from for a long time.

* * *

She was aware of murmuring, of chanted words above her head, first. The voice was soft, soothing, so she was not immediately alarmed. Next, she noticed she was lying on her back upon something far more comfortable than the ground; a cot, she decided. Soon after recovering sensation, an acrid, metallic smell assaulted her nostrils. It made her wince, a strange, stiff feeling of contracting muscles. Her mouth felt dry, like the sands of Jehanna, parched and arid. Slowly, the fact that she was injured came back to her as dull pain flared up in her right arm. However, the uncomfortable burning was being combated by a slippery, cooling touch.

Her fogged mind tried to fit the pieces of the situation back together, but she came up with missing portions of the picture. Something had happened; she had fought, that was why she felt so tired. She had been injured during the battle and now she was in Natasha's care, Lute concluded. But, something was still missing. Something was just out of her grasp of comprehension. She reached—

—and fire erupted in her arm.

Burning, sharp, agony raced up her limb and struck her shoulder, sparking another blaze there. Something hard and stiff was shifting near the end of her limb, shifting and grinding and melting and—oh, _gods, _it hurt! She didn't realize she was screaming until her dry throat seemed to crack, and a new irritation flared in her esophagus. Where was that cool relief of being healed? Where had it gone? Was Natasha even there?All she could feel was that horrible, stinging, fiery agony swirling and churning in her arm.

_Gods, what is happening to me? Why—why isn't it stopping? Light above, have mercy! Gods, gods, it_ hurts!

"Lute!"

Amongst the pain, her hazy mind almost didn't register the voice. She knew, somewhere inside of her, that the only reason she heard the call was because she knew—loved—the one who had shouted.

_Artur._

She yearned for him, for his soothing embrace. Surely, he would make the pain go away. He would comfort her; protect her from the vile agony. She knew this, wanted this, but why, with the passing of time, did the burning only grow stronger? Why wouldn't it go away?

"Lute, please, try to calm down."

She knew the voice, but only a few of his words were heard. _Artur, help me, please!_

"Shh, you'll be all right. I'm right here."

She begged for him to continue to speak. If she clung to that familiar voice, maybe she could wait out the fire, because all fires went out eventually.

"I'm right here. It's okay." Soft and sure, his hand gripped her left one, squeezing reassuringly. "It's okay."

She trusted him, finding some small comfort in the fact that it _would_ be all right, because Artur was usually right about these kinds of things. Lute trusted him to make sure things would be okay; it was why she finally allowed herself to let go of the white-knuckled grasp she had on consciousness. She allowed herself to drift back into the black sea of nothingness, confident that Artur would remain with her until she awoke once more. She knew she would return; Artur wouldn't let her go without a fight.

Falling back into darkness, she breathed a sigh of relief as the pain faded.


	43. Confronting the Afterward

**A/N: **First, I need you to set down all dangerous and potentially lethal objects that are most likely directed my way. Second, I will explain my prolonged absence. I have had computer troubles out the wahzoo, so let's leave it at that. If you must know, though, both computers in my house crashed and/or had spyware and viruses like you wouldn't believe. Does 192 sound like a lot? I know Sandy can vouch for me. I'm so sorry that it's taken four months (maybe even more than that) to update. I'm having a very difficult time concluding this fanfiction. So, if you can be patient and forgive me, hopefully I'll be able to land this baby without much more turbulence. Thank you.

Also, I'd like to let you all know that there might only be one more chapter after this. I'm not sure if I should be sad or relieved about this...

Lastly, This chapter is dedicated to my ever-faithful reviewer, SandyCaesar, and to a concerned GreatLight432. Thanks for checking up on me and reminding me that my work wasn't finished just yet. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** This will be the forty-third time I've written this. By now, I'm sure we all know I don't own Fire Emblem nor anything associated with it. So let's continue, shall we?

* * *

**43) Confronting the Afterward**

Ephraim had seen Seth and his sister return to camp in a harried haste. He had watched Lute being taken into the infirmary with Artur close behind. The prince set the matter of Lute's health aside for the moment; he would be sure to check in later, though. Before his tender-hearted sister became involved, he quickly snatched her attention.

"Eirika!"

She turned and smiled at him, though the expression was distracted. "Brother, do you need me?" At that question, Seth had also looked to Ephraim should his assistance be needed.

"Sister, how goes it? What is the situation now?" He added after a moment's thought, "I saw you racing in not long ago with all the spirit of one being chased by demons."

Relief broke through the concern in her eyes. Eirika's features relaxed, softening. "Brother, General Zinneth, the sole survivor, has been defeated. Lute destroyed her without assistance." The princess's smile was brilliant as she stepped forward to embrace her brother. "It's over, Ephraim. There are no more to defeat; the war is over." Her grip on him was tight with wordless relief. "We can go home," she whispered.

Ephraim returned her embrace, euphoria welling within his chest.

Over.

The word seemed the sweetest ever spoken. The long war was over and the soldiers were free to return home. He chuckled as Eirika withdrew from the hug. "I simply hope that another supposedly dead enemy doesn't rise from the grave before we try to return home again."

Eirika scowled and huffed. "Don't even joke about that!"

He did his best to look contrite. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Ephraim glanced over her shoulder. "Where are the others you took with you?"

His sister's expression turned pink in chagrin. "I'm afraid Seth and I left them behind in our haste." She bit her lip. "I should go and fetch them back. Oh, I'm such a slow thing sometimes. I shouldn't have left them without a superior."

The prince settled a hand on her shoulder. "Eirika, you were thinking about the health of a fallen soldier. Your mistake is quite understandable and can be excused as they are not in any danger."

"Yes, but . . ."

Ephraim glanced over at Seth, who stood waiting patiently. "Seth, would you please find and escort the remaining soldiers back to camp?"

The general bowed his head. "Of course, Prince Ephraim." Seth excused himself and left upon his mount at a swift pace.

Eirika watched the paladin depart with a faraway look upon her face. "It seems so odd, Brother, that the war is finally over. I don't feel like I did when the Demon King was defeated. Then, I was so sure of myself, so confident and so happy that everything could return to the way it once was. Now," she shook her head. "Now, I find myself waiting for the next disaster to disrupt our lives again. I can't shake the feeling that our work will never be over. I don't feel the same lightheadedness I did the first time." She frowned absently. "I almost feel jaded, like I've been tricked out of my happy ending."

The prince studied his sister carefully. "Eirika, we can't all have the same happy ending in the tales the nursery maids used to tell us. Just be glad that we've won our first war. True, we're a little worse for wear, but at least most of us are still alive."

"I won't forget him, Brother," she whispered with a sad little smile. "Father, Lyon, even Kayll—I won't forget any of them."

He nodded, feeling his heart heavier in his chest. "Another price of war we all must bear. We can only hope to make up for all the nightmares with joyful days."

His sister glanced over at him with blue eyes shining with playful teasing. "We have a lot of work ahead of us, don't we, Ephraim?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can already feel the eyestrain of reading endless documents coming on. The castle will need to be rebuilt and Renais as a whole will need to be reconstructed, rejuvenated. Yes, Eirika, I do believe we have our work cut out for us."

* * *

When Lute woke next, it seemed much later in the day—perhaps a few hours than the last time she was awake. The lighting in the tent was dim, candles being the major source of it. When all of her senses caught up to her, she realized that Artur was holding her hand. She turned her head carefully and saw he was asleep in a chair with his head bent uncomfortably, chin brushing his chest. Her lips turned up in a fond smile as warmth rushed through her.

She shifted slightly and winced as a twinge in her right arm became known to her. Lute glanced down and saw, with a pang of sharp surprise, her arm: made of flesh and bone instead of rigid Stone. She was immensely thankful for Natasha and would make sure to express her gratitude to the cleric. Lute experimentally tried to clench her fist, but only succeeded in making her fingers twitch. She frowned at this and continued to make an attempt until the ache building in her arm was too strong to ignore. Lute relaxed the muscles slowly, wistfully.

She hadn't expected a full recovery immediately. The mage knight knew she would have to go through a period of rehabilitation before her arm was in proper working order. It would be slow going, she knew. Having her flesh converted to stone and back to flesh again in less than twenty-four hours was a dynamic change in substance. With time, her arm would be back to normal. Lute would just have to cling to that hope and wait it out.

The mage knight turned her head when she heard the tent flap being pulled back. Natasha slipped into the tent with Joshua close behind. Glancing at the bedridden soldier, the cleric smiled happily to find Lute awake. Natasha was mindful of the sleeping Artur and rounded the cot to Lute's right side. Joshua stood at the foot of the cot silently, a lopsided grin on his face.

"How are you?" Natasha asked softly.

Lute mustered up a small smile. "I'm good." She twitched her fingers to show the cleric. "Now, that is."

Natasha was pleased with the movement, little though it was. "It was a bit touch and go at the start," she admitted. "The Restoring magic wouldn't take to the Stone because it was settling. I was determined, though, and it worked."

"You must be exhausted after all of that," Lute speculated. She gave the cleric a good once-over, noting the dark half-moons beneath her eyes.

"I've rested up for the past few hours, don't you worry your head," the cleric told her. Her expression became concerned for a moment. "I shouldn't expect much now, but is there any uncomfortable stiffness? I was afraid that there might be permanent nerve damage."

Lute did her best to flex the muscles in her hand, but couldn't find the strength. She frowned. It wasn't that she didn't have the strength—there was something more. She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't know, Natasha. I can't tell just yet. My hand…feels not my own, as if I were willing another's hand to move."

The cleric frowned thoughtfully. "Most victims of Stone have said the same, and they all recovered beautifully. I'm sure the sensation will pass…"

"Tell me the truth, Natasha; I can handle it."

"Well, you were victim to Stone longer than most of my patients," she fretted. "The only instance of one sustaining the petrified condition longer than you had some permanent nerve damage. He couldn't do anything more than shrug his shoulders; his arm was confined to a sling for the rest of his life."

"No amputation?"

The cleric wrinkled her expression with distaste. "Too drastic. If not entirely essential in an emergency situation, it causes more harm than good. Phantom pains and whatnot. Besides, it's quite messy."

Lute thought on her situation for a moment. "Then, there is risk of permanent damage, yes?"

Natasha nodded.

Lute grinned dryly. "Best not tell Artur until we're certain—he'd worry his head off and fill my ears with absurd ramblings of impending triumph. I'd rather keep the use of my ears, thank you."

"If that's what you want, Lute," replied the cleric. Natasha didn't seem to approve her decision, but it then wasn't her business, either.

The mage knight nodded and then turned the attention elsewhere. "How are things, Natasha, about camp?"

Her smile was light and sincere. "Everyone is a bit stunned that it's finally over."

A similar smile curved Lute's lips. "It really is, isn't it? I can scarcely believe it."

"That's generally what is running through everyone's mind now. I'm sure there are those who won't know what to do now that the war is over."

The mage knight glanced at the blonde cleric. "What of you?"

"I want to return to Grado and help those there. I believe they suffered the worst, despite what some think," Natasha said, showing her tender heart.

Lute's eyes flicked over to the lackadaisical form of Joshua. "And you?"

The myrmidon flashed a look to Natasha. "I go where she goes."

The cleric blushed faintly, but an utterly joyful grin captured her face. Lute couldn't help the fond smile of her own; they were perfect together. Lute was grateful to see that the war hadn't destroyed everything.

"What about you, Lute? What do you plan on doing?" Natasha asked, her eyes trailing to Artur's sleeping form.

The mage knight followed her gaze and let it rest upon the sage's sleep-slackened face. Her fond smile grew shyly affectionate. "Knowing him, we wouldn't be apart after this. I liked living in the country, but I would be recognized for my talents in the city. I'm beginning to think of starting a small school for the Magical Trinity…once everything is up and running again. If he wanted to, I'd take Ewan on as an employee, but he might have other desires."

Natasha nodded, understanding that Ewan might very well take after his mentor and lead a life of solitude in the mountains. At least for a little while. Ewan was too passionate about life to go it alone until the end. Eventually, he would find someone to share his life with. "I don't think Kayll would be pleased if his desires led him down a lonely road."

Lute smirked at that, though there was no malice in the expression. "No, I should think not," she said, her tone a bit wistful. Sighing, she murmured, "It will be different, won't it?"

"What's that?"

"Going home…and living with what is left. It will be different, I can tell."

Natasha nodded thoughtfully. "At first, yes, it will be different. Renais has so much reconstruction ahead of her. And Grado…there is little that won't be changed. Jehanna will struggle for awhile before a leader is appointed. I believe that Rausten and Frelia will be just fine, after a little restoration." She sighed, a sympathetic note. "I feel for the country people and the villages in the mountains. They are so far from help."

"And afterward? I wonder what it will be like afterward," Lute murmured, her gaze a bit distant like she was trying to see into the future.

"I think it will be as before, with people simply trying to live through the trials and enjoy life while they have time to," Natasha replied, glancing at Joshua, "and maybe they'll feel happier for it."

Lute hummed in agreement, her mind a bit absent from the current conversation. Natasha saw this and decided to end their visit; she would make her rounds again.

"Well, I'll leave you to rest. Be sure to tell me if you feel any discomfort, or if the numbness continues after a few hours," the cleric ordered.

The mage knight bobbed her head, murmuring her farewells. The cleric and the myrmidon left the tent, and the rustle of the canvas roused Artur from his sleep. He blinked blearily as the light filtered into the tent, then disappeared quickly as the canvas fell back into place. He straightened and stretched, working out the kinks in his back, rubbing his eyes of the sleep that clung to his lashes. Only then did he notice his beloved sitting up and awake upon the cot.

"Lute," he murmured sleepily, "how long have you been awake?"

She blinked, clearing her eyes of the thoughts that occupied her mind. "Not long. Natasha and Joshua stopped in for a visit. They just left, in fact."

"Mm. How are you feeling?"

Lute couldn't keep the playful smirk from her lips. "You should have taken the Bishop rank. Then, you would be just like Natasha."

Artur looked perplexed for a moment, then let the teasing comment slide. "But, really, how are you? What did Natasha have to say?"

The mage knight reached for him with her left hand. She patted his arm reassuringly, saying, "She told me that I would be fine soon enough. I'm just a bit stiff, that's all. Don't you worry that silly head of yours."

The sage looked slightly nettled. "I wish you wouldn't say that; it makes me think you don't appreciate my love for you. Besides, putting off your health isn't the way to go if you want to be around longer. Does it bother you, knowing that I want you to be safe and hale so I can share my life with you?"

Lute was stunned for a moment. Emotion and feelings for another—particularly love—wasn't her forte. She had thought that emotions were messy when she first started out in the war. Things like magic were so much easier to understand. She hadn't thought that Artur was set off-balance by her need to dissuade him from his inquiries concerning herself. She hadn't any idea what that would look like to Artur: irritation at his concern, false reassurance so he wouldn't have to put forth his love.

"I—I'm sorry, Artur," she said, shaking her head in slight dismay, "I hadn't the faintest notion that was what you thought. No, that's not what I meant when I said not to worry. I just don't like people keeping after me, but that doesn't mean I don't love you any less. If it's something to be truly concerned about, I'll tell you. But, please, don't think I'm lying to you to keep you from finding out the gravity of the situation."

As she spoke, she realized that was exactly what she had been doing earlier. She hadn't told him the truth of what Natasha had said. She knew if Artur found out later, he would think everything she had said now was a lie. Lute didn't want to have him worry about her, especially if there was nothing he could do about it. There was something positively smothering about it.

She sighed, resigning herself to be completely honest. "Actually, Artur, there was something more Natasha told me. She said there may be permanent nerve damage if I don't regain some feeling in my arm in the next few hours."

The sage blinked a few times, appearing to be overwhelmed for a moment. "So, you will lose the use of your arm if the numbness continues?"

"It's possible," she agreed softly.

He nodded, a little grim, a little apprehensive, but conclusive. "I suppose all we can do now is pray and hope," he said quietly.

Lute was surprised he was taking it so well. Perhaps what she had said gave him the incentive to be more resilient in the face of uncertainty. It warmed her to know that Artur would support her and listen when she spoke. It was his love for her that made him change according to her needs and wants. She saw in this the danger of growing accustomed to this, and was determined never to allow herself take advantage of Artur's unquestionable loyalty to her.

She squeezed his hand, sending her gratitude to him through the action.

"We'll get through this, one way or another," Artur murmured, quiet strength in his voice. It told her that no matter how it ended, his position in her life wouldn't be displaced even by an inch.

She knew that saying the despondent words on the tip of her tongue would negate everything Artur had done and said thus far. It was her nature to speak her mind, but she curbed her tongue this time. Nonetheless, they both knew the unspoken words that hung in the air.

Lute felt slightly ashamed for the selfish notion. She should be stronger than that, her love for Artur should be stronger than that. Still, it didn't keep her from entertaining thoughts of herself, years into the future, woebegone and distant, mourning the loss of a limb in a war that had brought her to her beloved. It was the chip in the armor that made the entire thing crumple.

"It won't be like that," she whispered aloud, trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him.

He hummed a note of contemplation. Whether it was an agreement or a skeptical observation, she didn't know. It made her feel all the more ashamed. He patted her arm while murmuring, "Get some rest."

The mage knight situated herself for comfort and settled down against the pillow. "It won't," she repeated with more vigor.

He smiled at her, his eyes alight with confidence. "I believe you."

"Do you?"

He chuckled lightly. "Lute, if there's one thing I've learned about you in all this time, it's that you will never let go of something once you have got your hands on it." He stood from his chair and bent to press a tender kiss to her forehead. "I believe you," he whispered, his breath tickling her face.

A smile curled her lips and, reassured, Lute allowed herself to be carried off into the soft waves of slumber.

* * *

They had caught up to the group of magic-users not long after the emotional burial. Now, however, Seth escorted them back instead of L'Arachel. The Silver Knight gave them a cursory glance and tilted his head in a fraction of a nod. Saleh joined the group silently, carrying the inert form of Ewan, Myrrh trailing after them with all the grace and regal poise of the Great Dragon.

L'Arachel glanced back at them, stopping mid-sentence in her monologue to say, "Oh, poor thing. It must be hard, losing your beloved…I shall pray to the gods and beg their grace and love upon his broken, withered heart! He shall be restored to his former, happily ignorant self under the adoring care of the gods!"

For an inexplicable reason, a flash of irritation swept through Saleh. His brow pulled down at a sharp angle and his gaze was hard when he looked at L'Arachel. Despite his rigid expression, his voice was as calm as it ever was. "No, L'Arachel, Ewan will not return to his 'former, happily ignorant self.' If praying to the gods was all that it took, it would be too easy. War leaves inerasable scars, and that's the truth of the matter."

The princess of Rausten looked a bit more than stunned by his words. She probably had never had someone refute her moves of holy sanctification. She blinked rapidly, emphasizing her shock, her open mouth gaping like a fish. In a moment, she came to a conclusion and closed her mouth, her eyes losing their stunned appearance. She nodded briefly, "Yes, Saleh, I suppose you're right." Her smile was rueful. "I shouldn't have made such assumptions, especially when we're dealing with something as serious as the effects of war upon the human soul. I…apologize."

The mountain sage accepted this with a simple nod.

Myrrh drew alongside him, her presence calm and soothing. "Life is an ever-turning wheel, cycling as the moon does. It grows and dies, blooms and withers in every moment of the day and in every moment of the night. Even when a fire rages the land, life grows back. Slowly, a little bit at a time, but it comes back nonetheless—this time stronger than before." She looked at him with a knowing gleam in her eye. "However, if a stronger tree casts shadow upon the sapling, how will it find the sunlight?"

Saleh saw the wisdom in this and accepted it quietly. There was a protest upon his lips, but he said nothing. The painful truth of it all was Saleh couldn't be the sheltering tree he wanted to be. He had to let Ewan find his feet on his own, helping him balance only when he needed it. The sage didn't like it—not one bit—but Myrrh knew what she was talking about, and there was no reason not to heed her advice.

But he didn't have to do it right now. He didn't have to let go so soon—the war hadn't politically ended, after all.

The rest of the journey back was silent; not even L'Arachel could not recover her vivacious mood. The camp they returned to had transformed into a buzzing hive in their absence. The soldiers were celebrating the long-awaited victory over their enemies, boasting their skill in the final battle. Wide, excited eyes matched the bright smiles and quickly moving lips as comrades told each other their plans for the future, or what they would do upon seeing their loved ones again. Couples were easy to point out as they were standing close with a tangible aura of overwhelming euphoria, a few of those being Neimi and Colm, Forde and Vanessa, along with Kyle and Syrene.

Tethys, who had been standing with her mercenary friends, noticed their arrival and immediately went to Saleh, her gaze pinned on Ewan's sleeping form. Her expression clouded with fury and concern, expecting Ewan to be wounded—somehow—while his teacher hadn't been watching.

Saleh tried to pacify her quickly, saying, "Shh, he's asleep. Not hurt, just asleep."

She blinked and her expression transformed, the anger melting away. An affection smile flickered over her ruby lips and she placed a hand on Ewan's ruffled crimson hair. A soft sigh escaped her, revealing her relief.

"Let's take him to my tent," she suggested.

Once Ewan was settled amongst the nest of blankets and pillows that served as Tethys' bed (for she accused that the cots made her muscles stiff), both the boy's sister and his mentor turned to face the other. Tethys stood stiffly with her arms crossed, a firm scowl on her delicate features. Saleh held no opposing stance, simply allowing his weariness come to the forefront.

"We need to talk," he murmured.

Tethys made a sound that expressed her reluctant agreement; she was clearly waiting to hear what excuse Saleh had formulated this time.

"Ewan doesn't agree with our current arrangement," the sage began. "He wishes to return to Caer Pelyn when we're officially dismissed from duty."

Tethys said nothing, but her stern look directed him to continue.

"He has told me that he doesn't have any place to return to aside from Caer Pelyn. He said he doesn't want for me to be…exempt from his life. I believe that his wants and needs are more important than either of our own."

The dancer made a noise of sharp displeasure. "He doesn't know what's good for him—he's a traumatized boy that shouldn't have been in this war in the first place!" Her flinty gaze conveyed the blame that her voice didn't: Saleh was the root of all of Ewan's problems—that she firmly believed.

Saleh felt his ire rise, and he found himself defending a hesitant resolution that he had made what felt like decades ago. "What was I supposed to do—leave him for the fiends to fight over?"

At his unexpected outburst, Tethys glanced at her brother and sighed tersely. "Let's take this elsewhere, before we wake him."

The sage agreed and followed the dancer to a somewhat secluded place behind the supplies wagon. The large wooden wagon, sitting towards the outskirts of camp, provided a sense of privacy that the two took full advantage of.

Tethys shot him an irritated look before she continued her rebuttal. "No, I didn't expect you to leave him—and if you had, I would have made sure you regretted such a mistake very deeply." She took a breath as if to calm herself. "What I did expect was for you to take him to _safety_, preferably the nearest armed village. What possessed you to think that an _army_ was the safest place for him?"

Saleh's jaw tightened as she spoke. "You certainly didn't say anything against bringing him along, if I remember correctly."

The dancer stepped closer to him, her fury coming off her person in waves. "I wasn't included in that particular battle, as you should know. Despite the help I could have been, Gerik ordered me to stay with the wagon. He said the passages were too narrow for me to be well protected, and he didn't want to risk my safety."

The sage's anger doubled. "Of course, when you're needed most, you stay to the back! Did it matter to you that Ewan was trapped in that village?"

"_Of course_ it mattered to me!" she spat.

"Then, you certainly didn't try hard enough to challenge his orders!"

"Gerik is my guild leader—you can't just challenge his orders! He'd dock my pay for that kind of insubordination!"

"So money means more to you than your brother's safety?" Saleh felt like he had been hit with a Berserker spell. He almost found himself wishing for the dancer's blood, but that thought alone made him attempt a calmer approach, as it was not in his passive nature to be ruthless.

That and the stricken look that was frozen on Tethys' expression now. In moments, rage twisted her pretty features. She bared her teeth, ready to throw back a barrage of malicious accusations when Saleh quickly intercepted.

"I'm sorry, that was cruel of me to say," he yielded quickly. "I shouldn't have even considered such a thing. No one can question your love for Ewan."

Tethys grimaced, as if struggling between two different expressions. The dancer settled on angry but relenting as opposed to enraged. She pursed her lips, a physical effort to keep back her infuriated retorts, though her eyes flashed with unsuppressed hostility. The shift in expression was a silent message for the sage to continue his apology—as was right in her eyes.

Saleh sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted, bordering on complete physical breakdown. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. The normally tranquil sage had never been so torn apart with emotion in years, and he had forgotten how taxing it could be.

"What I'm trying to say is Ewan should be able to decide for himself what he does with his life," the sage began again. "Perhaps it was wrong—on both our parts—to allow him to continue to stay with the army."

"Perhaps?"

He opened his eyes and looked at the fiery dancer. "It _was_ wrong, regardless of who did or did not do anything about it. In any case, Ewan _did_ become a part of this army and it _did_ have consequences neither of us would wish on anyone. I think it's time for us to stop directing his path and let him choose." His mouth twitched in a humorlessly smile. "I think we've 'helped' him enough."

Tethys held his gaze for a few long moments, her face pinched as she considered his words. Suddenly, with an explosive sigh, her offensive stance rapidly diminished into a depleted bearing. "I…can't argue on that point," she admitted, then added sharply, "But don't think this puts you in my good graces."

"I didn't imagine for a moment that it would."

She ignored him and went on, saying, "Ewan has grown up—too fast, I say—but he's grown up all the same. He might not know what's good for him, but he can't make any bad choices from the spot he's in now."

Saleh conceded this point with a silent nod.

"I suppose it's best for him to lead his own life." The dancer met his gaze with a calm look. "If Ewan wants to go back to Caer Pelyn, I won't stop him."

The sage felt a ripple of relief rise within him. "Thank you, Tethys. I know it's hard to stand by and watch him do what he will when everything within you is telling you to intervene."

Comprehension lit her ruby eyes. "Kayll?"

The sage's smile was rueful. "It's not my place to say, but I felt like an overprotective parent the entire time he was courting the girl." He sighed softly, a sad note. "It would be callous to say that I knew the girl would bring trouble after everything she did for him."

"He loved her very much," Tethys agreed softly. Her gaze became troubled as she added, "So much has happened to him, do you think he'll ever get over it?"

"I don't think he'll ever 'get over it.' This is something he needs to work through, slowly, with time. Kayll's death should be more than enough, but fate was cruel enough to add his Possession to the pile."

Tethys' face clouded with dark fury. "If that snake was still alive, I'd gut her and roast her slowly over the fire."

Saleh bobbed his head in consent, entertaining briefly his own morbid methods of killing the fiend slowly. "Would it be cold of me to think that Kayll's death was good for him, in a way?"

"How so?"

"Well, it made him forget, at least for the moment, that he had been Possessed. The threat to Kayll's life, and then later her death, made him set aside the trauma of his Possession," he explained. "I'm certain the effects will show themselves without much more delay, but be grateful that he only acknowledges one of his nightmares presently."

Tethys was quiet for a moment, and both of them stewed silently on the horrible truth. Without prelude, she announced, "I'm going to ask for a leave of service. Ewan will need both of us before this is over and done with."

"I agree."

The dancer maintained his steady gaze with a sincere one of her own. "I apologize for being so quick to doubt your honesty and your intentions. I'm sorry that I doubted you ever truly cared for Ewan. He is your student and he is precious to you; that alone should be enough for me."

"And I apologize for being rash and inconsiderate," replied Saleh. "I should have known better than to speak unthinkingly."

Each attempted small smiles, feeling a large amount of tension lift from their shoulders. With the air between them cleared of any animosity, both felt that they could be strong enough for Ewan, for the times when he needed them in the future. Wordlessly, they walked together, back to Tethys' tent where Ewan still lied asleep. They kept a solemn vigil over him that lasted the rest of the day and long into the night. Somehow, they felt confident that the morning would bring some hope for the far-off days when the realm had righted itself once again.


	44. In the Passing Years

**AN: **So, uh, hey. If any of you care for an explanation for my inexcusable absence, just check out my profile. That should fill you in. Well. Here it is, you guys. The last chapter. The conclusion. And hopefully I did a good job wrapping this up, because after this, I'm letting this puppy lie. This is the last chapter and I'm closing the door to this fandom. I know I've probably lost many of what few readers I have, but that's okay. Disappointing, but okay. As long as I can post this chapter, I think I'll sleep just fine. This whole fic has been like a pink elephant for me: there was no way I could forget about it even if I closed my eyes and it just kept getting bigger and bigger the longer I procrastinated.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's been a wonderful journey and this is actually one of the very, very few pieces that I've actually finished and felt satisfied with. I've had amazing reviewers that have gently corrected me and guided and encouraged me the whole way. And I'd like to make it known that I haven't forgotten all of you, either.

Thank you to: all my readers and reviewers; sukiyakii, for those critical first dozen reviews; ricco-the-penguin, for introducing me to fanfiction; Raptorxd, for being my first ff .net buddy-it meant a lot; GreatLight432, for all your awesome reviews; Aquatic-Idealist, for all your contributions; Nightwing of the Azure Shadow, for all your thoughts and wishes; Sir Exal, for the review in Chapter 41-it really touched me and inspired me; TodgeWatherly, for being an awesome friend and fellow Fire Emblem supporter; and lastly (but certainly not least) to SandyCaesar, I most certaintly wouldn't have been able to finish (or even write) this fic without you. Sandy, your thoughts meant the most to me and I'm very appreciative for all your careful critiques and good advice. I'm regretful that I've failed to keep in contact with you since New Year's. I hope that, at the very least, I still have you as a faithful reviewer. Time will tell.

Enjoy and farewell.

* * *

**44) In the Passing Years**

"Isn't it perfect, Artur?" Lute asked him as he drew the horses to a smooth halt.

Artur let a smile curve his mouth. "Of course it is; you wouldn't settle for less," he told her teasingly.

A modest but roomy dwelling leaned comfortably against one edge of the trees that encircled the clearing. For the moment it was unadorned and plain, but it wouldn't be for long—not after Lute got her hands on it. She was already planning where to hang her various trinkets and how to make use of a special little shack—which sat not too far from the house—that was reserved as a study for all of her books.

The house contained a main room for relaxing and entertaining guests, a private bedroom in the back, an open kitchen near the doorway, a washroom of moderate size, and a small study for Artur. Both had agreed that they didn't need any too fancy, nothing too large as to suggest an owner of higher power, simply what they needed. However, Artur had insisted on a separate building for Lute, saying that he, as much as he loved scrolls and tomes, wouldn't be living among them as he had at the temple.

Their modest little setup wasn't far from Renais' capital. In fact, they were only just outside the city. They had both been in agreement when they decided on a private dwelling penned in by trees with only a beaten path to mark the way. They had a few neighbors a mile or so away, who had also settled in the same forest—Za'ha.

There had been some debate on whether they would return to the devastated village and help it rebuild, welcoming back nostalgic feelings from the beginning of the war. However, despite how familiar the setting would have been, Lute and Artur had stayed away from the village. Artur wanted to live in an environment that was untainted by the footsteps of fiends, unsoiled by blood and terror. Lute wholeheartedly agreed—they would begin a life together on virgin grounds, where not even their old nightmares could find them.

Nevertheless, they had returned to Za'ha Forest simply due to the feeling of nostalgia. It was the first time Lute and Artur went to battle together. Before their assignment at Za'ha, they didn't see too much of each other, just enough to form bonds of acquaintanceship. So, it only made sense for them to return to the forest—but only on ground not painted with blood.

The couple was excited to move into their home—they had waited longer than necessary for this moment. Because Renais was undergoing a major reconstruction period, they had had to wait on their home and settle in at the temple for close to three years. Neither minded too much as they were far too busy with other things to be worrying incessantly about their home. They helped where they could, moving belongings, salvaging as many valuables for homeless families, cleaning out extra rooms in the temple that hadn't been in use for years, and ferrying supplies to and from villages.

There was still so much work to do, but they had taken the time to get married amongst all the bustling chaos. It had been a small, private wedding with all their companions from the army. At least, those of who could make it. Saleh, Ewan, and Myrrh had been mysteriously absent ever since the army had escorted them back to Caer Pelyn. The ragtag bunch of Gerik's Mercenaries had steered their business in Renais' way and so they had the opportunity to drop in for some belated congratulations. Natasha and Joshua, regretfully, could only send a written letter of praises with a caravan passing through Renais; the cleric and myrmidon were hard at work in Grado. Cormag, however, couldn't be stopped by the progression in Grado to attend the ceremony. He had slapped Artur on the back with uncharacteristic enthusiasm and a knowing grin. The poor groom had chuckled with embarrassment, thanking the wyvern lord for attending.

L'Arachel, of course, outdid herself by sending a large basket of provisions and other such things for the newlyweds, with a lengthy letter of wordy congratulations. Within the letter, she had also made certain to tell them that she had, at last, tracked down the pesky Rennac and taken him captive as a reluctant personal guard. Tana, who was turning up more and more frequently at Renais Castle had given them her praises also, including Innes' as well as he couldn't leave Frelia.

Of course, those who resided within Renais had turned up at the wedding, some of them already wed themselves. Colm and Neimi, holding the place of first marriage of the New Age (that was what many were calling it now), were living comfortably in a small house on the outskirts of the capital. Forde and Vanessa had gotten married soon after Colm and Neimi. Though they were separated by a country border and kept apart by duties, both were wholly confident in their marriage. Kyle and Syrene were still pursuing a relationship, though they both wanted to wait for things to settle down before getting married. There were rumors that Innes still kept after Eirika, and that her overprotective Silver Knight was a bit too territorial around his princess. The public was waiting in anticipation for the conclusion. Some time before Artur and Lute's wedding, Natasha had sent word that she and Joshua would be wed at the beginning of the next year; Artur and Lute planned on attending.

Over the few years that had passed since the end of the war, the pair had heard from nearly all their companions at least once, if not more. They were still waiting, however, for a letter from the sages who lived in the mountains.

* * *

"Artur, could you help me bring in this last crate?" Lute called from the wagon.

There was only one load of books left to take to the study, and she loathed to admit that she couldn't do it alone. Her right hand simply didn't have the strength to do so. At best, her weaker hand could curl her fingers loosely over her palm. It wasn't a fist by any stretch of imagination. And it was damn annoying to put up with, to boot. However, she _had_ put up with it since her recovery a few years ago. She had learned to adjust and compensate for her weaker hand.

Artur set down the hefty box he had been carrying just inside the doorway and rushed to help her. He had learned long ago to not say anything about her hand, or help her too much. Together they hefted the crate by the iron handles and hauled it down to the study. Lute scanned the room with an appreciative gaze.

Though it was small, it was wide and open—as if simply waiting for the day that Lute would fill it to the brim with her cherished possessions. The architects had set up a wall-to-wall desk at one end of the shack; it was far from lavish, but it was sturdy and would do its job well. Above the desk was a row of several cabinets that would hold Lute's writing materials and candle supply. There were only two windows (which were opened wide to allow the fresh spring air in) opposite each other in Lute's study, but she had already thought ahead and set up a handy account with a candlemaker. Besides the desk and the area about the windows, the interior consisted of ceiling-to-floor shelves and shelves and shelves. All were pathetically bare and empty, but Lute would set that right soon enough. To be completely honest, Lute wondered if, with time, they'd have to knock out a wall and build an addition onto it in the future.

"Lute, darling, I don't remember you having quite so many books with you during the war," Artur said with an inflection of weary astonishment. He leaned back from the waist up, trying to work out the knots in his muscles caused by hauling so many heavy crates to the shack. _We should have just moved the wagon to the study instead of carrying them down. _He glanced at his wife, who was still taking in the sight of her study, imagining it filled with books. _Then again, she would have just told me in that all-knowing voice of hers that a little sweat and some effort wouldn't hurt—we _have_ fought in a war, you know._

"Silly, I had to leave most of my books at the temple. The ones I had with me were completely necessary," Lute responded when the comment had registered.

"You had so many books that you made me take some into my own tent!" he exclaimed, though she seemed not to have heard.

Lute turned to him and clapped her hands together. "Now, I want these books sorted by branch of magic, and then by period of writing, and then alphabetized by author, and then by series under that author. If we work quickly, we can get most of it done before sundown."

It was nigh on noon, presently; Artur groaned.

It would seem like too much time to arrange a few dozen or so crates, but Artur was sure that Lute would change her mind at least half a dozen times on the arrangement of her books and tomes and scrolls.

"All right, let's get to work!"

Lute enthusiastically dove into the work and Artur followed after. It would be a long day.

* * *

The day was an appropriate level of cool for autumn. Artur could feel the bite of winter coming on through the layers of his clothing. He held Lute close to his body with a warm arm around her and his other hand resting on her shoulder. They had returned to the place of their first battle with the intentions of overseeing the reconstruction, but they were taken by surprise by the flood of memories the two settlements in the woods had brought.

"I can still see it…one after another…and the stench of decay," Lute whispered, "It was the first time I'd ever used my talents for anything more than a demonstration."

Artur tightened his hold around his wife as they observed the workers bustling about them, carrying loads of lumber, hammering down nails on the roof of a new house. His eyes sought out the still-standing dwelling that both he and Lute had hidden in at the start of the battle. It was untouched and seemed to stand as a testimony to the couple's efforts and the army's victory. They had survived and they had protected the villagers living within the woods.

Lute walked to the gates of the forest village and pointed to a location directly in front of them. "There—that's were I killed my first fiend, a bonewalker. And, over there—" She walked around to the corner of the wall and gestured to the rotted fallen tree beside the village. So much time had passed since its felling that its bark had broken away in clumps and moss had grown over it, a blanket covering an ancient sleeper. "—That's where Garcia and Franz crossed over to come in from behind." Again, she turned and pointed to a bridge visible through the break in the trees a fair distance away. "And that's where Seth and Eirika came charging over to take on the Entombed leader." She spun on her heel and pointed overhead the village. "I remember Vanessa and you flying over to come to retrieve me."

As she spoke, Artur saw it all played over in his mind's eye, remembering the panic he had felt, remembering the putrid scent of death cloying in the air and the bright splashes of blood on his comrades from the wounds the fiends had dealt. He saw, again, the way his first fiend had blackened and dissolved under the might of his Lightning, falling to the earth as dust and ash. He saw once more the way Vanessa's lance had burst from the back of a Revenant, saw the rotted flesh fall off the bone as it collapsed to the ground. He felt, again, the weary awe when he saw Seth wipe his sword on the grass and remount his horse without the slightest shift in expression. Franz, he remembered, had been slightly shaky and very pale, but he had suppressed his gorge and remained as calm as possible, taking after Seth. And Lute…

Something about that day had made her wide-eyed, innocently curious expression seem sharper, not so naïve. She had been changed that day—so had he, Artur supposed. He recalled the sick, restless feeling in his gut he had experienced for days after the battle. His world, at that time, had become not so pure and innocent as it once had been. If he imagined enough, he could still feel the gritty ash and dust of his foes coating his skin, his tongue. The remembered scent of blood gave him a headache, and he felt more tired than he had in weeks.

"How can it be…that the blood and the ash that blanketed this place is…gone?" Lute murmured in a faraway tone.

His eyes dropped to the ground and, indeed, it seemed that all evidence of the battle—save for the gaps in the encompassing village walls, the few houses that had been damaged, and the fallen tree—had disappeared with the time.

"Perhaps it's better this way," Artur replied quietly.

"Yes. I want to walk the forest again before we leave."

"I'll wait," he told her.

Without any visible recognition that she'd heard, Lute wandered off into the words, retracing footsteps only she could see. Occasionally, she would pause and stare, her hands moving in a phantom pattern. When he lost sight of her, Artur leaned against a solid section of the village wall and closed his eyes.

It wasn't the first time they had felt the ghosts of the past. Even being in Renais Castle to deliver a request for supplies brought on a small burst of adrenaline for fear of being attacked by foes that were no longer there. Sometimes, it was difficult to separate memory from reality—as it was here, for example—but once the division was established only a gentle reminder was needed.

But, being here, in this place where the war had begun for him, it was a strong temptation to slip into the past. Artur allowed himself to sink into the bloodstained waters; he would later resurface when Lute returned from her walk. They would be quiet on their way home. They would rest together on the bed in silence, but they would be all right the next day.

* * *

A few months later, in the middle of the Renais winter, Artur and Lute traveled south to Grado, which was settled comfortably in a mild autumn. They attended the wedding of one compassionate cleric and one easygoing myrmidon. Artur and Lute stood among those gathered with easy smiles on their faces. It was a cheery event, as all weddings are supposed to be, complete with an eventful celebration afterwards. Couples engaged themselves in a contest of dance and laughter. Artur, having two left feet, was grateful that Lute had decided to sit out on—she was recently pregnant and had turned down dancing for fear of vomiting on the dancefloor. She didn't want to embarrass herself and she didn't want to spoil the memory of Natasha's wedding with such a foul thing.

Artur was more than content with sitting aside. He was just thankful that Lute had made the trip without incident. He had worried about traveling so far to Grado, but Lute had told him firmly that they _were_ going to the wedding. If the baby didn't like it, that was just too bad. It was certainly a different reaction than he had expected. Only a week or so ago, Lute had declared that if they wanted any more children, they would be adopting. At the time, he hadn't dared argue—Lute had a decisive personality, but a pregnant Lute had the law in her hands as far as anyone was concerned.

But she was enjoying herself here, away from work, in a change of scene, so he wasn't going to begrudge her this one trip.

Many of their friends attended and it was refreshing to be able to talk with them at length as they didn't have much time for it back at home. He learned that Neimi was expecting in the next month or so, and Artur found a companion in Colm who had also been a bit leery to allow his wife to attend the wedding. Forde and Vanessa were planning to build a house for themselves in Renais, somewhere close to the castle. Artur found out that once the house was built, Vanessa would finish her last year in the Frelian Army and move to Renais to live with Forde.

Syrene was having similar ideas and was attempting to persuade Kyle. This was partly because she knew at one point one of them would have to leave their country for another and, while Syrene would miss Frelia, she didn't want to part Kyle from Forde—who both had remained close, steadfast friends. However, Syrene's first obstacle to overcome was Kyle's shy reluctance to propose marriage. Kyle and Syrene's situation was being kept quiet as they were more reserved than most, but Forde had been at the bottle more than once and had let slip to Artur how they were managing things.

When Artur talked to Gerik and his crew, he found Tethys not to be among them. He learned that Tethys had slipped away to Caer Pelyn one night after quite suddenly requesting leave of service. Gerik was pained to see her go, but he knew her heart was set on caring to her brother and so he had let her go. However, Gerik told him that he felt the dancer would return when everything was made right; he just had to be patient. Artur found himself praying it would be true, for the mercenary's sake.

Knowing that Tethys was with her brother, Artur asked Gerik if he had received word from her about her sibling's condition. Regretfully, Gerik said he hadn't. He wasn't even sure if Tethys herself had gotten any report about her brother. He explained that it was all very sudden when Tethys had asked to leave and if she hadn't explained why she was leaving, Gerik would never have known. However, he promised that if he did receive word, he would pass it on to Artur.

"Thank you, I'm very worried about them," Artur told him.

Gerik nodded solemnly. "You and me both, Artur." He was called away by Marisa, who had gotten into a mock fighting tournament and wanted Gerik to test his skills against the other soldiers.

Artur was only alone no more than three or four minutes at most before Cormag joined him at his place beside the long table of food. He had been watching his wife speak animatedly to Neimi (the two seemed closer than ever what with their pregnancies serving as a common bond) and so hadn't seen the wyvern lord approach.

"You've done good," Cormag told him in his usual deep-but-quiet tone.

Artur started only slightly, glancing over at the other man as he passed his goblet from one hand to the other. "Cormag! It's good to see you. I noticed you in the temple, but you disappeared before I had the chance to speak with you."

Cormag's smirk was amused. "Yet, you know me well enough not to expect any different."

"Well, yes, that's true." Artur considered him for a moment. "How are things for you, lately?"

"Me?" Cormag idly scratched the side of his neck with the hand not holding his drink. "Ah, well, things are certainly different in Grado. It's going to take some getting used to."

He nodded. "I had heard that Grado is being ruled by a group of men who were directly beneath Emperor Vigarde. Knoll is among them, correct?"

"Yes, he is and he's doing a fine job."

"He recovered well from his injury, then?"

"Very well. I heard it had been touch-and-go for a while after his arrival—he'd almost passed on a few different times on the trip back—but once the clerics stabilized him, he bounced back." A small frown appeared between his brows. "The people aren't sure what to do with themselves; the public is used to having a singular ruler. The Counsel for the People of Grado is doing the best they can while they attempt to find the next in line to rule, but it's not fast enough for the people."

Artur hummed a note of agreeable contemplation, realizing that Cormag hadn't answered his question. "How are you adjusting?"

The man beside him heaved out a breath that was probably meant to be a sigh, but fell just short. "The Counsel is using the wyvern forces as a sort of far-reaching, quick-traveling, peace-keeping force. We make sure the people abide by the Counsel's laws and dissolve all protests and such." He glanced briefly at Artur. "It's not at all like the army. It's degrading, in all honesty."

"You're not happy."

A pause. "No."

Artur chewed on it for a moment. "Then, leave. Find something else."

Cormag frowned at him. "The Grado army is where I belong."

_I have nothing else _is the wyvern lord really meant; Artur knew from the tone of his voice. "Perhaps, but the army isn't serving much of a purpose, now, is it?" The other man waited. "You are a man of purpose: you need it, you live on it, and without it you feel useless. Right?"

Whether Cormag was perturbed by the astute observation could not be deciphered from his expression. Instead he said with amusement, "That's a few times now that you've sounded more like Saleh than you have any right to sound."

"Ah, well, sages are supposed to be all-knowing and wise, aren't they?"

Cormag chuckled. "Yes, that's true."

"So, why not venture out to find the purpose you need?"

"The army is the only thing I've ever known. To leave it would be…wrong."

_The army is the only way I've ever known my brother. To leave his memory would be wrong._ Artur's lips pressed together in a grim expression. Three years later, Cormag still hadn't recovered from his brother's murder. War left deep wounds—Artur was ashamed to find himself only concerned about Ewan because the boy had been so grievously harmed and not considerate about the wounds others surely carried. Those wounds were not nearly as grave, but that did not make them weigh less.

"I have been blind," Artur murmured solemnly.

Cormag simply raised both brows slightly in bewilderment.

"I have forgotten," the sage continued, "that there are others still wounded to this day, others that are still suffering. I was concerned only with Ewan because of the severity of his situation. I was only focused on my new life with Lute and had forgotten the lives of others." Artur sipped the drink he had been holding. "I have forgotten my duties as a monk. Simply because I ascended in rank gives me no reason to leave behind my monkshood." Artur looked up at Cormag with remorse. "Accept my apologies for I had forgotten you, too, have suffered."

The wyvern lord beside him looked at him long and hard with his unreadable eyes. Then, he tipped back his goblet and finished off his beverage in one smooth swallow. Setting his goblet on the table, he shook his head at Artur. "You, my friend, are far too thoughtful. You should stop at once—you're making me feel old and knavish." He gave Artur a stern look. "Those two should never mix."

Artur felt his lips quirk in a small smile. "It does not excuse, however."

The other man pursed his lips in a mocking thoughtful gesture. "No, but, then there is no blame upon you. Thus, there is no excuse you need."

"Cormag—"

"You have a house in the Woods. You have a beautiful, scrupulous wife and she is with child. Soon, you will have a little one all your own. You survived a war. You aided those in need, for a decent amount of years."

"Only a few—"

"For a _busy_, decent amount of years. You have done much and received little." Cormag smirked. "It doesn't sound like you gave up your monkish ways to me, Sir Sage."

"Nevertheless, I still—"

"And, let's not forget, you carry burdens not your own," the man spoke over him. "Be silent and enjoy. Those still with wounds will heal. Those still suffering will find peace. And if that still does not sit well with your tender heart, then visit those you have helped and speak with them. They will tell you that you have done your part. Be content and do not worry."

They stood in companionable silence, then, for a while. Artur let the words sink in and he rolled them over and over again in his mind. By the end of his meditation, he found he was content. Cormag was right, but it wouldn't stop Artur from helping more than his fair share here and there. There was nothing wrong with being helpful. However, he would be sure to take time for himself and enjoy.

Artur grinned at his companion. "It seems that the war has changed more than I. I do believe that is the most I have ever heard you speak at a given time, Cormag," he teased.

The gruff wyvern lord cleared his throat and crossed his arms. "Yes, well, the time in the saddle has allowed me to think about many things." He gave Artur a sidelong look. "Be sure this doesn't get out; I wouldn't have my carefully cultivated reputation demolished over this."

Artur chuckled and clapped the other man on the arm. "Enjoy yourself, Cormag. I won't worry over you."

"Ye Gods, I almost thought I wouldn't be able to worm myself out of that one."

Lute caught his eye and beckoned him over. Artur patted Cormag once more on the arm. "Take care of yourself, Cormag."

The other man nodded. "And you be sure to look after that woman and her little one. I shall want a letter from you as soon as the babe is born."

"Done."

Artur left him and went to his wife. He sat beside her on the stone bench and placed a tender kiss upon her lips. With a hand, he touched her cheek, sliding a finger down her jaw line to her chin. With the other, he interlaced their fingers. He withdrew to touch her forehead with his lips, then her temple. Retreating enough her look at her, he smiled warmly, his unoccupied hand taking up her other.

Lute was both bemused and amused, and the combination was one he liked immensely. "Artur, why the sudden attention? Not that I'm not fond of it and not that I'm undeserving of it—because I am; I'm your wife and mother to our child, so I should get some special attention—but…?"

Artur squeezed her hands in his. "Someone told me that I should enjoy myself, and I am simply following their advice."

"Perhaps I shall have to thank this person."

"Later, you may. Now, I want to enjoy you."

An amused smirk crossed her lips. "Well, this is certainly a pleasant tune you sing. I should like to hear it more often."

"And you will," he assured, placing another kiss in her hair. "Someone also told me something that has made me appreciate what I have."

"What did they say?"

"They said, I have a wonderful wife, I shall have a child come autumn, we have a lovely home in the Woods, we have survived a war, and those still wounded and suffering shall find their peace soon enough. Natasha and Joshua have just been married, and Neimi and Colm will have their child in the summer. Tethys is with her brother, who we all pray is well. The land is healing, the cities are rebuilding, and the people are recovering. What is there to worry over? Who is there to be sad?" Artur looked at his wife and Lute returned his gaze warmly. He said softly, "I have all I want and I am content."

* * *

A warm wind swept the plain, and the tall, thick grasses rippled beneath it. The sound of it was a dull roar, like an ocean wave, that settled into the background. It was pleasing in a way that it soothed his senses, just as the temperate wind wrapped around him in an embrace. The sky was a clear, stark blue with voluminous white clouds strolling overheard. Pairs of birds could be seen dancing an elaborate pattern, but of other wildlife there was none. It was somehow fitting that this place would be lonely even after all these years. Also fitting was the way the land still bore deep scars, telling of grievous wounds.

The gleaming ebony stone still stood, as it always would, like a dark monolith—brooding, beautiful, and stalwart. It had not lost its luster in the passing years, had not worn nor chipped. And, although the grass had sprung up around it, it was not cluttered by them, not smothered or choked or crowded. Rather, the strong plains grass gathered about like a respectful congregation of mourners. There was reverence in the places around it, and, even with the sun full and strong, there was a certain kind of shadow over it. This shadow was not dark in a sinister way, nor was it despairing in abject misery. The shroud produced a sense of gravity, a sense that something of importance had happened in this place, although many are unaware.

This was also appropriate and fitting, he decided. So, it was in the same manner that he drew closer and knelt before it. The solemnity in his face matched the reverence in his hands as he reached forth and touched his fingertips to the sun-warmed stone. The gentleness in his eyes stroked each letter his gaze traced. He drew in a deep breath of the dry plains air, fancied he could still smell that special heartbroken scent—he hadn't forgotten.

There was a soft smile on his lips when he spoke, "Do you remember that first time we spoke? You told me that a name is an identity, and one without identity is a lost soul." The smile tipped a little. "I think you were right. I think you took my identity with you for awhile. I was…lost, I suppose. For a long time. Oh, but don't worry," he chuckled, "You gave it back. At least, I like to think you did."

He situated himself so that he reclined against the stone, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. "I had a dream not long ago. I was fighting something and I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I didn't know what it was, I just knew that it wanted to hurt me—no, _keep_ hurting me. At some point, I fell down on my knees and bowed my head. I was tired and I wanted to stop. I think I was ready to give myself over to it, but then…"

Another smile crossed his lips. "I heard my name; someone was calling to me. I think I was being called to for the entire duration, but I only heard it when I was ready to give up. When I heard my name, I felt strong again, and I stood up and I fought back. I remember waking up with the sun on my face—I had left the shutters open by accident the night before." His voice dropped to a confessional murmur. "That was the first time I felt warm in a long time."

Straightening, he pulled a handful of long grass from the earth and began absently twining them together in his hands.

He laughed a little, "Did you know that I kept a candle burning for every year that passed by? I put an ever-burning spell on it so it would never go out. I kept them all on my desk in Caer Pelyn, arranged them in a tidy little set-up and decorated them with heather—the pale purple-like ones, not the pink-like ones. That color of heather sort of reminds me of your hair. It's not quite the right shade—needs more blue—but, it's close."

He looked down at his hands, watching the blades of grass as they wound together. "There were four candles on my desk yesterday. I burnt up all the heather, and then put out all the candles. I tied the candles together and put them away in my drawer. Do you know why I did that?" He laughed, "Yeah, I know it took me awhile to get my act together, but I finally did it, didn't I? Now, you can't blame me—I was all sorts of messed up and you know it." Softly now, he said, "I was just lucky to have a lot of people who care about me."

He fell silent, letting the wind ruffled his hair and brush his clothing. It was quiet and calm for a few minutes, the grass shaking out another soft roar. He waited for it to settle down again. When he resumed, his voice held the kind of suspense that comes before a great revelation, or perhaps a great conclusion.

"I'm sorry I didn't come and visit more often. But, then again, I don't think you minded the loneliness. You always were a sort of solitary person. I think this place suited you just fine. I'm here now, but I don't think I'll be coming back again. And, you know why, don't you? Yeah. When you gave me my name back, you also gave me my path. I'm not lost anymore, Kayll, and I know you'd resent me if I sat on my thumbs all day instead of walking that path. So, I will. I'll walk it as far it will take me, and I don't mind if I have to walk some parts of it alone."

He slipped the grass-woven bracelet over his hand and settled it on his wrist. "I won't forget you, you can be sure of that. I don't care if you like your loneliness just fine, you won't be alone. I'll be with you for as long as you're here, so there!" He stood and stretched, reaching out again to touch the stone, giving it a firm pat. "I should be going now; Saleh is waiting for me over the bluff."

He crouched again, bringing him intimately close to the stone's glossy surface. He whispered, "Thank you" and left. She would know. She would understand.

The angel tears shone brightly that night.

_~Finis~_


End file.
